


The Compass (that points you home)

by ura_nium



Series: and your compass be true [2]
Category: Justice League - All Media Types, Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Child Smuggling/Slave Trade, Mentions of Death, Mentions of PTSD, Mentions of War, Physical Disability, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-11-15 15:10:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11233578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ura_nium/pseuds/ura_nium
Summary: In 5 different lives, the Universe gets between Diana and Steve.orThe 5 times the world is set on putting considerable distance between Diana and Steve, but neither party is having it so they finally get their happy ending (after a few decades).





	1. leave me with some kind of proof (it's not a dream)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of what I project will be about 6 chapters because its a ~~****~~~~small elephant of a fic~~ 5+1 fic, and as you can kinda deduce from the summary. I am basing this off the impression I had of WW before I watched the movie, so there are very very few spoilers in terms of plot, unless you count
> 
> 1\. Some lines here and there that may reference the movie dialogue, but nothing explicit,  
> 2\. Events and people borrowed from the movie line-up and the existing DCEU (before and after new 52, but not inclusive of Suicide Squad or BvS), or  
> 3\. My personal view that Diana and Steve are badass, beautiful cinnamon rolls (which you don't need to see the movie to know this for a fact).
> 
> THIS IS FULLY CANON-COMPLIANT, except for the ending part because WE DID NOT SEE THE BODY SO NO. I REFUSE TO AGREE. This is also not beta-read, and may contain mistakes of grammatical nature. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Ages:**  
>  **Charlie - Born in 1885**  
>  **Chief - anywhere between 30-40**  
>  **Diana - anywhere between 25-35**  
>  **Etta - Born in 1895**  
>  **Sameer - Born in 1880**  
>  **Steve - Born in 1892**
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing except my love and passion for all things beautiful. And for my penchant for creating stories and making the characters I love suffer.
> 
> (Sorry this is so long.) Happy Reading!

~~~~~~~~_We are dying, Egypt, dying_

_And not expecting pardon,_

_Hardened in heart anew,_

_But glad to have sat under_

_Thunder and rain with you,_

_And grateful too_

_For sunlight on the garden._

**_\- Louis_**   _ **Macniece** , [Sunlight on The Garden]_

 

* * *

 

  1. 1920



It is close to midnight when she gets back to the apartment — the lights are already out when she sidles past the front door. Diana presses her keys to the palm of her hand, in hope that her entrance would not disturb her lover's rest, but to no avail. As soon as she set foot into the threshold of the living area, the figure on the bed shifts with a rustle and she knows. He's awake.

"Diana? That you?" Steve's voice is hoarse and sleep-worn. The soft light from the streetlamps wash into the room, outlining his silhouette with a faint silver as he reaches stiffly for the bedside table, in a bid to turn on the bedside lamp. His back and legs were likely troubling him again — Diana can tell from the rigid way he is moving, and the soft, strained sounds of effort he is making under his breath. His old wounds always flare up in bad weather, and seeing how it was raining when class started, today is clearly no different.

She hangs up her coat and hat on the rack by the door, and her keys, and hurries over to the bed. Diana is glad that this apartment does not have walls separating the rooms from the living and front area, unlike most of the others they saw before they moved in together last year; it conferred them great ease in terms of movement, especially when Steve still needed his crutches to walk, and quelled Steve's anxiety about corners and crannies where possible assailants or attackers could lurk, out of sight.

"Who's there?"

"It is me, Steve. Why are you still awake?" He appears to pay no heed to her question and opts to continue attempting to switch on the lights. Reaching over, she completes the task for him in an instant and immediately, the right side, Steve's side of the bed washes a warm, amber glow.

"Steve." For a split-second, in the dim light, he looks like a deer caught in headlights, body tense, lips taut, and eyes stormy with panic. When he sees who it is, the man visibly relaxes, and the fear seeps out of his face gradually. Her heart twists when she notes the lines of pain on his face, and shadows under his eyes with redness streaking their whites.  
  
He hasn't slept well since... well. Since before they began sharing a bed, if she is completely honest. She knew it is not her fault. War can do that to a mortal, she had learnt that the hard way when Steve first fell apart, before her very eyes.

Her brave comrades, Sammy and Chief, called it shell-shock. It is what had plagued Charlie, and was now taking its toll on the young captain. Sometimes, Diana thinks maybe the situation would begin to better itself. Despite chronic discomfort attributed to the physical trauma sustained from his involvement in the war, Steve should have otherwise escaped the throes of death, largely unscathed. The mental trauma was not something either of them saw coming, because they were all used to Steve being the one who knew when to do what, and where to go. None of them were used to a Steve that can barely take care of himself, let alone others.

On his good days, he smiles and is able to coax her away from her studies on what he calls date nights. On his good days, they go dancing, or they do something new together. But as it nears winter, he gets lesser and lesser of those good days, and his nights are riddled with distress. Sleep does not grant him any reprieve and his anxiety troubles Diana. Diana does not sleep heavily either, due to her upbringing as a warrior. It is in her very being to always be ready, to be vigilant. Also, her sleeplessness is not caused by unhappiness, worries, or illnesses, but merely because she does not require as much sleep as the average mortal.

As above-average as Steve insists he is, he is still hurting from the war, almost one year on. He needed to heal and rest is imperative to the process. Nevertheless, every other night she would feel him shift and stir, before finally awakening from a nightmare of some sort, breaths short and tight. Sometimes he would even take the effort to run a perimeter check on the house, but on nights like this, when he was immobilized by his old injuries or unwell, everything is worse.  
  
"Darlin'." A smile reaches her lips at his affectionate address, and she leans in to take him up on a chaste kiss. He tastes like her favourite spearmint gum and something else, something sweet and warm, which made her disobedient heart thump slightly faster. "I missed you, sweetheart."  
  
"And I you, my love."  
  
The man's lip twitches upwards at the affectionate address. Her chest warmed. "How was class?"  
  
"Interesting, but tedious." Diana murmurs as she tilts her head, allowing for a better view of his visage. "The professor went on and on about proper handling and treatment of the artifacts, and how to date them, what materials they were made of..."  
  
His impossibly blue eyes widen with surprise.

They are the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, as clear as the seas that caress the shores of her homecountry, as brilliant as the sapphire gems set in Mount Olympus, adorning the sacred place with crystalline beauty unfathomable to a common, unbelieving man.

She has long given up persuading people of such a place, of immortal gods and indestructible weapons forged in the everlasting fires, and of the Mountain itself, where the gods resided and held council.To mankind, these are marvelous and wonderful, but merely stories, tall tales created to entertain and astound in times of peace. This is not one of those times, and sometimes, Diana is afraid that mankind will never again know the meaning of peace and kindness.

But Steve, Steve is different. He is a man of great trust, great faith. Diana has never shown him the relics of Olympus before, nor has he communicated with the gods, but still, he believes in her wholly, and by extension, her lieges. He questions, but always listens for the answers, never just the sound of his own voice. He seeks to explain to himself the ways of the world, and not to correct or demean her, never that.

These are the many reasons why she stayed with him. She stayed for his love, his passion, his wit and sharp mind, but above all, his heart. No other mortal has managed to leave such a deep mark on her mind and soul, no one but Steve and her Steve only.

"Was it difficult? But you're a whiz with weapons." He says it definitively, like it is not a question of her abilities — to him, she excelled at nearly everything.

She purses her lips in reply, choosing instead to use her finger to trace her lover's jaw.

“What is it then, Angel?”

Her hand follows the line into his smooth, exposed neck, following the contours like a navigator would explore the ridges of the ground, to chart the way to glory for her people.

"It was not the weapons that were being difficult."

“Then? The instructor?”

A slow nod seems to suffice.

“He sounds like a real tight-ass. You should really show him what you’re capable of. Do you need me to come and hold your coat?”

Diana laughs, despite the displeasure she feels towards her professor. Her mood is lifted almost immediately. Great Hera, this man… he makes her feel so happy. She wants times like this to last forever, these simple conversations, these moments of laughter. She wants to capture it in a jar and relive it in full, whenever she wished. It was a selfish and incredibly foolish wish, but a fervent desire, nonetheless.

Alas, time does not work in anyone’s favor, not even a demigoddess.

Steve leans into her hand, sighing at the touch. She presses a palm to his neck. Diana frowns at the dry heat.

"You are running a temperature."

He shies away from her hand as she reaches for his forehead. "It's nothing, I just wrapped myself up in too many blankets, is all."

Diana's frown deepens. With a short huff, she withdraws her hands and makes as if to stand, only to stop short at Steve's hand gripping her sleeve.

"Darlin', please, I just want to hear about your day. I'll even tell you about mine, if you do."

The teasing edge in his voice does not manage to offset her concern. He is ill... she needs to persuade him to take a more beneficial course of action, and not allow him to avoid the issue, as he usually would prefer. She worried her top lip with her teeth, watching her lover's twinkling (fever-bright) eyes.  
  
This does not help her cause.  
  
"Only after I take a shower." If possible, the man's grin widens as she bristles, continuing, "And only if you promise to take something for your pains, and your fever."  
  
His hand shoots up, pressing his two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute.  
  
"As you wish, Madam." Oh, how he made her heart throb in her chest. She pressed another gentle kiss to his ear, reveling in the delighted snuffle she received in return before she went the way of the bathroom, feeling Steve's loving gaze on her silhouette the whole time.

* * *

"Steve?" She pulls on her dressing gown as she stepped out of the bathroom, casting her eyes to the bed as for said man. It is empty, but this does not worry her overmuch. Her lover must have stepped out for a cigar — this is often the case after a stressful day at work or restless night. Although she despises the pollutive nature of his smoking, she has learnt to associate the taste of hot smoke and menthol gum with Steve's kisses, and the smell of it reminded her of the bonfires they lit in Themyscira every solstice, the wood they used to burn offerings to the gods. He told her that he was trying to gradually rid himself of the habit, although she knows it was one of the few creature comforts he allowed himself.

"Have you consumed your medication?"

She wandered into the living area and peered into the balcony, only just managing to catch a shadowy figure and a wisp of smoke behind the screen doors leading to the balcony when a shard of moonlight reflecting onto the wall beside the doorway flares, almost as if it were alive.

Before she could react to the strange phenomenon, the blue darkness of the room is awash with a white light, and Diana covers her eyes in a bid to spare herself the glare. When her vision is restored, she is still standing in her living area, the small bronze blade she always keeps on her person unsheathed and herself half-crouched in the most threatening stance she can muster. The only other thing on her mind is _Stevesteve **steve**_ and how he has no idea that there was something, some entity in their home —

A figure materializes before her eyes and she feels her breath hitch in her chest.

"Iris."

The goddess shifts slightly at her address and inclines her head as Diana bows respectfully.

"Diana of Themyscira, it has been a while.”

Iris looks… well, as haughty as ever. The last time they met was in Hippolyta’s throne room, when she had come to pass on a message from Dionysus, inquiring about his gold and silver goblets, and if they were still preserved in the Paradise Tower.

“I am... surprised that you have not returned to Paradise. Man's World is hardly a place one would expect to see you in."

She tries not to scowl at the implied criticism directed at her present, and favored, country of residence. Iris may be a Goddess, but she does not have to be a disrespectful one.

"Is there anything that I may assist you with, Goddess? I am afraid I just returned from my studies and I am rather weary."

"You have been summoned to Mount Olympus."

Well, this is not what she expected. She schools her astonishment and put on a questioning look instead.

"By who and for what purpose?"

Iris shifts, her silver skirt rustling at the movement, its material light as gossamer and rippling with a multitude of colors. Her beautiful face is serene, like a still lake reflecting the sunset.

"I am not to say. My message is just that you have been summoned and that is all I have been tasked to carry."

"And I am to go? Now?" She spares a quick glance at the balcony, where a figure is pacing into the doorway. She holds her breath and prays that Steve does not catch sight of her or the Goddess because only Zeus knows how many more nights he will spend after that in mental turmoil. And her heart aches to see him struggling that way, in a place where she cannot reach him.

"Do not worry, we are shielded." Iris murmurs, silvery-grey eyes glinting, "I have compelled him to remain outside until I leave."

The manipulation of her lover angers her. It must show on her face because Iris makes a curious sound, leering, "Curious, though. I would have never thought you as someone who would have a preference for..."

The goddess' eyes flit to the crutches leaning against the wall, by the coat rack. "Broken things."

"What you think is of no concern to me." Her blood is roaring in her ears. "Is there anything more that I need to be made aware of?"

"Your mother sends her regards and wishes you were home." She adds, sounding bored.

"And the gods? Seeing how Ares has managed to reform from the Great War, and the fact that you are now here, speaking to me, are they regenerating as well?"

Much to her amusement, the deity looks unsettled for the first time.

"I am... one of the first." She murmured lowly, as if afraid that someone is listening in. "The minor gods are gradually returning, perhaps because we have less influence over the affairs of the world. Ares is the first of the major gods — I believe he sapped the progress of the other gods to bolster his own. They have yet to recover, so for now, Ares is our overlord. We answer to him."

Diana's mood sours. "He is... well, then?"

"Stinging from his defeat. He forced Paean and Aceso to heal his wounds. In the process, Aceso has since become... indisposed. Paean expired once again. But Ares is well."

"Ah."

"My time is nearly up," a flash of... is that fear? It crosses Iris' face and is gone as soon Diana spots it, like a momentary glint of color. "Ares expects you on Mount Olympus by daybreak. Do not keep him waiting."

With that, the goddess vanishes with a shimmer of light.

"Angel? Is everything alright? Why have you got your knife out?" Steve is leaning on the doorway, his daytime walking stick clutched in his grip. His hair is disheveled from tossing about in bed, and even though he is wearing a full set of nightclothes as well as his thick woolen dressing gown, she can see that he is shivering.

"Beloved, you should not be out in the cold like this." She breathes, sweeping across the threshold to be by his side. He lets her guide him back into the apartment, weight warm and reassuring by her side.

"Well, I wanted to see if the stars were pretty tonight," they both sit down on the edge of the bed. "My ma always said stars shone the brightest after a little rain."  
  
"Mm, were they?"  
  
"Well, yeah,” he drops his eyes to hers, shyly. "They're not half as beautiful as you, Darlin'."  
  
Humming approvingly, she bestows him with a chaste kiss on his stubbled cheek. Steve responds with the click of a tongue and turns his face fully towards her to envelope her in a deep warm kiss. It is like sipping the nectar of the gods; the passion in his touch and the love in his eyes leaves her giddy and ecstatic. They sit there for a while, relishing in each other’s presence.

“I could sit here all night,” Steve murmurs suddenly, “I could sit here with you, all night. Just looking at you.”

"That is… a strange proposal. But I cannot accept such an invitation — you need your rest.”

“What? I’m as fit as a fiddle.”

“Well, if you do not wish to rest, I shall. I am tired, the day has been long.” She pulls her hand out of his grasp, “So will you be sleeping with me tonight? Or are you too abashed to do so, outside of the confines of marriage?"

He laughs at her innocent jibe, his arms snaking around her waist.

"Now you're just asking for it." She wiggles playfully out of his hands, a smile on her face even though there is a sour taste on her mouth. She is breaking all her promises at once — before day breaks, she will be gone from Steve's side, and for the first time, she is lying. It feels absolutely disgusting.

"Have you taken your medication?"

"I don't need it, princess — you are the cure to all my ills."  
  
"Steve."  
  
"Alright, alright, no, I have not."  
  
"You are hopeless." She teased.  
  
"I know you love it."  
  
"... this is not over."  
  
Steve's laughs breathily into her ear and she closes her eyes, trying to will the moment in her mind to last forever.

 

* * *

Later that night, when Steve is sound asleep and she is curled up comfortably against him, Diana allows herself to think. He finally conceded to taking his painkillers and had drifted off an hour ago, and now she is watching him sleep, running her fingers soothingly through his gold-streaked hair. Even in his slumber, he twitches at her touch, but rather than moving away, he moves into it, breaths deep and contented.

She wishes she does not have to go. Olympus is not Earth, time there flows differently. There is no telling how long Ares would keep her there and what he needs her there for — when she went there with her mother for a centennial commemoration of the War of the Gods, they were hosted by Hestia and Dionysus, the only two gods still in full power. As she understood it while it has been close to a thousand years for Earth since the Gods fell, but for Olympus, it had only been a little under two years.

What would Steve be like, when she returned? Would he still be young? Or would he be old and silver-haired, face lined with age? Would he need his stick to walk, would he smile at her return? His eyes, would they still be as world-weary as they are now, or would they finally recover some spark?

Would he wait for her, and love her still? Or would he have moved on, married, and have children that look every bit like him?

Her heart hurt just to think about it, so she bid the thoughts to leave her and opted instead to bury her face in his neck, taking in his warm, clean scent. She stays in bed beside him, keeping awake and watching him sleep, up till the very last moment, when she spots the first lines of light veining the deep purple sky. Then she slides softly out of bed, and makes her way to Steve's work desk. And starts to write.

* * *

When Steve wakes, he immediately notices something is amiss. He turns, and the problem becomes apparent.

"Diana?"

There is no response. His stomach twists itself into knots as he stumbles out of the empty bed, wincing at the deep ache that has now returned to his back. Well, at least his legs were not hurting anymore.

"Diana? Angel? Where are you?"

The apartment is as empty as a swallow’s nest in December, and as cold as a tomb. He can feel the blood in his veins slowly turning into ice as he wanders listlessly around the threshold, calling out for his love.

In the soft light of the dawn, something catches his eye; a rectangular piece of paper, folded in half, weighed down by a heavy coronet. One of her most prized possessions, another being Steve's military dog tags, her shield, and the gauntlets given to her by her mother.

It is a letter, he realizes, when he gingerly tugs the paper loose from under the coronet, careful not to damage it, although the item is hardy enough to last through the fiercest of fights. He knows, he's seen it in battle, first on Antiope, then on Diana. It is a tough thing, but precious, treasured and respected.

**_Diana, where are you? What is this?_ **

With a heavy sigh, he unfolds the letter in his hand and takes a seat at the table. Diana’s elegant cursive spreads densely across the page, like an ink drop in water.

_Dear Steve –_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Paean - the physician of the gods_  
>  Aceso - goddess of the healing process 
> 
>  
> 
> So I'm super nervous about posting this, even though it is about 40% done and I have the remaining 60% all thoroughly planned out. It started out as a 5+1 fic, but its this strange monster that just keeps on growing, god knows how big it will get before it decides it's done. 
> 
> As you saw, the greek gods will make an appearance in this story, they are loosely based off the gods portrayed in the Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus Series, and modified slightly to fit the story better. 
> 
> The Justice League will also be making an appearance starting from the 3rd installment — I am basing my impression of the team off League in Justice League Unlimited (Animated Series), and the Justice League members in Young Justice (Animated Series). 
> 
> Sidekicks MAY also appear, if not in person, then by name or in passing because I grew up watching Teen Titans (Animated Series) and reading the original (black and white) TT comics so I really can't help myself okay.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the little pockets of information about Diana and Steve's lives prior to the events at the end of this chapter. Hopefully, after this is done, I can expand on the nuances in this story, but be warned, there are a ton of rabbit holes in this story where I could easily just fall through and open up another tangent/world altogether. Do let me know if there is any section you would like me to expand upon, I would gladly do it in a side-story, but for now, those gaps are for you to fill. Till next time, cheers!


	2. and without you (is how i disappear)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She returns only to find that the world has moved on without her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Ages:**   
>  **Charlie - Born in 1885**   
>  **Chief - anywhere between 30-40**   
>  **Diana - anywhere between 25-35**   
>  **Etta - Born in 1895**   
>  **Sameer - Born in 1880**   
>  **Steve - Born in 1892**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> To facilitate your reading of this chapter:  
> "Underlined speech is in German",  
>  _Italicized_ , and ** _bold and italicized content_** are thoughts.
> 
> As usual, all grammar mistakes are mine, I may come back and correct them if I spot them in my re-reads.
> 
> Happy Reading!

_So it's true,_

_when all is said and done,_

_grief is the price we pay for love._

_- **E.A. Bucchianeri** , [Brushstrokes of a Gadfly]_

* * *

 

  1. 1936



It is like nothing she has ever seen before.

People pack the stadium like sardines. And it isn't the same kind of celebratory fervor she felt at the post-war celebrations in London — this is something else. Feelings of hope, anger, determination, anxiety, all at once. Every person in the stadium is a tense coiled spring, all eyes fixed on the arena planted at the pit, where the wait continues for the execution of an move by a lone black man. With such animosity, such a strained atmosphere, Diana is seized by a longing for her gauntlets, shield, and Steve's tags; Ares' minions wrested them away from her as soon as she arrived on the mountain. They were her makeshift talismans that keep her from feeling vulnerable, unsafe. As she does now.

Turning her attention back to the field, she watches the athlete scuff his shoes on the starting line, as if preparing himself for the daunting task ahead of him. This is his second out of three possible attempts at his event, the long jump, although only an idiot would call the first run an attempt. He was merely testing out the field, but somehow, the officials took it as a foul on his part. It is bewildering that the man should be kept back by nondescript signals that meant something or another on the competition field.

To be very frank, Diana feels nothing but righteous fury for this man. Her fellow Amazons would never be so critical and overly-occupied with the details of measurements and numbers. Why, if you were defeated in a sparring match, you took the loss with dignity and retreated to better yourself. It was dishonorable for a warrior to bicker and scrutinise every minute detail so as to explain one’s failure.

In fact, many often preferred to be beaten honestly and entirely, as it would mean the flaws in your craft are being pointed out clearly, making your path towards greatness that much more distinct — you would then know what to work on and which direction to go. If you won, you would help up your fallen opponent, because you would never know when the odds would shift, and when a day would come when you needed assistance in getting back on your feet. If you drew arms and found each other to be equal in ability, that was the most joyous and much celebrated occasion indeed, for you have found a worthy sister-in-arms who you will spar with enthusiastically for life, attempting to outstrip each other, and matching up to one another, every step of the way.

Here in Man's world, however, such does not seem to be the case. Individual was set against individual, and each side kept to their own, selfishly, never showing any level of empathy for the opposite side and their difficulties. All this based solely upon the land of their birthplace. It was strange and nonsensical.

The next jump is also incorrect, for what reason, she does not know. Unable to hold back her anger, she frowns at the mumbled protests from the crowd. Are they not thoroughly offended by this outrageous judgement passed upon this man, based on not his ability, but his nation? Are they not ashamed by the absence of sporting behavior and empathy for this man? Why are they so afraid to speak up? Are they just cowards, or do they enjoy watching this man fail?

Or perhaps... her eyes flit up to the box seats, where the atmosphere is the most tense, and her attention immediately draws to the leader sitting in the center. Perhaps...

The jumper drops down on the wayside, looking disheartened. She understands how he feels, it is tough to compete when the odds are set against you. She has felt exactly as he did, standing before a court of Ares and his makeshift jury of Drakon and Spartoi. It is a scenario she never wishes to repeat.

Out of the blue, a blond-haired, blue-eyed jumper strides up beside his fellow competitor and sits down. She watches curiously as they exchange words, suddenly the other man's face brightens. The third and final leap is a fantastic one, and the man makes the cut to advance. It is truly a glorious moment, and even the crowd lets out a cheer, rejoicing in the man’s victory.

At the athlete’s triumph, Diana casts a gleeful look at the seats in the box, to the guest-of-honor sitting right in the middle, posture stiff and face stoic. He looks grim and extremely unhappy, and is turning away from the jubilant scene before him, as if it repulses him. Just then, a uniformed guard wearing a peaked cap appears at the side door, and comes up to his side, whispering into his ear. The Führer, as she understands he is called, nods and mutters a few curt words back as a reply. The other man takes in his answer with great care, and seems to concede to his request. As he takes a step away from is leader, he coincidentally looks up in her direction, their gazes meet like two magnets snapping together at their unlike poles. His piercing blue eyes are stark against his now paler skin, white-blonde hair, and dark cap. But they are eyes she will never forget. Never stop dreaming about.

The stadium falls away.

"Steve." Her mouth shapes the word in her mouth like it was just yesterday that she called it. In truth, it has been slightly more than a week for her, which was already long enough. Only the gods know how long it has been for mankind.

He seems equally stunned to see her, but true to his training, he swallows the panic and darts his eyes towards the back of the stadium. She understands it, immediately.

**_Outside, now._ **

She obliges because, well. He can probably orientate her on everything, once again. She's barely been in this world for a day and she has already spent majority of it in this stadium. A friendly face and helping hand would be good.

When they meet out back, however, Steve's face is anything but.

"How—What are you doing _here_?"

Diana is taken aback by his biting tone and ashen expression, "I don't know, I just got here. I mean, I asked Mesembria and Hesperia to send me to the gods instead of Paradise Island, but I ended up here instead."

"Who is... ah, never mind. What... why are you here?" The implication of his question stings. He's suspicious of her, she realises, heart sinking.

She takes him in — Steve is thinner than the last time she saw him. His hair is now cropped short, sharpening his features, and previously gold-streaked blonde now bleached to nearly white, brassy and gleaming dully in the cold light of the corridor. He is still devastatingly handsome, with his chiselled features, strong brows and cornflower blue eyes, but the man looks like he has aged years upon years, and is exhausted beyond measure. He looks spent. He looks lost.

She resists the urge to take him into her arms and asked him what has happened to him, since she left, how many days it has been. She is sure he's counted, as she did, but his agitated demeanour stops her short.

"I suspect it may be because the power of the gods is particularly concentrated at this arena." She raised her eyes as the no longer visible crowd cheered, above them, "Where is this?"

"Berlin, Germany."

"No," she shoots back, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu, "I mean, where is this? Where am I, what event is this?"

"Berlin 1936 Olympics. What you just saw on the field..." his eyes wanders off to a side, as if looking out for prying eyes and keen ears although the corridor is deserted. "That could have very well been the start of World War II."

Her heart skips a beat. War? Again? Her face must have given her horror away, because the hard lines on the man's face soften.

"The Germans never did fully back down. I am sorry, Diana. Ares has been busy."

When she recovers from her shock, she presses, "You said it is now 1936?"

"Yes, why? How many years has it been for you?"

Her throat tightens. It has been sixteen years. This is worse than she could have imagined. “Diana?”

“Eight.”

“Years?”

"No,” she swallows past the lump in her throat, “Eight days and eight nights."

" _What_?!"

She is reeling too, from the fact that she has, in the span of what feels like a week to her, lost almost two decades worth, sixteen whole, Earth years. Years she could have spent learning and savoring the delights of the human world, years she could have used to learn every aspect of humanity, and fall in love with humans all over again. Years she could have spent amongst her friends, years that she could have, _should have_ , rightfully, spent with Steve. Years they could have spent living together, being together.

She could have made a life with this man, this very one standing before her now, looking as though he is trying and failing to wrap his mind around the absurd situation, and come to terms with the time, and pain, and _love_ that they have been cheated of. At last, he takes in a deep breath, and lets it out, slowly.  
  
"How." The word comes out like a deadweight, resigned and tired.  
  
"Time on Olympus moves differently." She winces at her phrasing; he raises a brow. “Flows, continues, whichever.”

"You were on Olympus? As in, Mount Olympus?"

"Yes, I was imprisoned. Ares had me tried in the Imperial Court for interfering with the events of mankind, and his jury of daemons found me guilty."

“Of what?” the look on her face seems to be answer enough. Steve curses fiercely under his breath.

“Let me guess, for saving mankind from an eternal war?”

“Yes.”

“And he held you responsible. For everything. Good lord…”

“I was the only clear culprit he saw fit to expend his energy on,” She doesn’t mention the part where he threatened to try Steve for his crimes as well if she did not submit to his… punishments. Remembering her time in captivity makes her shiver; she presses her left fist to her lips to steady herself.  
  
"Wh-what's that?"

She raises her eyes curiously at the sound of his suddenly unsteady timbre. If possible, Steve has grown paler, his blue eyes glued to the hand she has raised to her face. Confused, she follows his gaze to the solid bronze ring around her finger.

"Oh, this? This is my curse. Ares placed a spell on me; if he senses I am interfering with his affairs, or if I attempt to remove it, he will come."

"Curse. Right." He looks relieved for a split-second, and then sheepish at expressing his interest in the subject. Steve averts his gaze, biting his lip. "Sorry... I overreacted. It's just that here, in... in Man's World, that ring is placed there for a different reason."

"What reason?"

"Um," he worries his upper lip, something he always did, and clearly, still does when he felt uncomfortable, "It... uh... means you're marri —“  
  
"There you are!"  
  
The call snaps through their conversation like a whip on a horse's back, and Steve is that poor horse. He shoots to attention, straight as a rod and turns, facing a middle-aged, but slightly red and ratty-looking German in dress uniform. A sergeant, if his stripes are anything to go by.  
  
"Let me talk ok? Just-- let me talk."  
  
He's nervous, she realizes, stomach twisting. She has never seen him nervous before, only one other time, the gala, at German High Command, 1919...  
  
_I can't let you do this._  
  
_What I do is not up to you_  
  
_I have to go—_

**_Let me do it, I can do it._ **

_I can save today, you can save the world_

**_Steve._**  
  
_Diana—_

 ** _Let me protect you too. Why won't you just--_**  
  
“ Where have you been, you idiot? The Führer has been asking for you. "  
  
She bristles at the way the man talks to her Steve.  
  
"Sorry, Schmidt, I was speaking to my..."  
  
His eyes drift uncertainly to her and she knows what he is thinking. What are they now? Clearly things are different for him, he is older and there are years between them now... does he still love her? Because to her, he is still very much the Steve, her Steve, the one she used to know and love and share a home with. Her partner, in crime and life, her only family here, in Man's World.  
  
The sergeant huffs, before finally sparing a glance at her. Then promptly doing a double-take, looking dazzled by her beauty. She tilts her chin up, unswayed by his admiration.  
  
"My deepest apologies, Madam, I did not see you there." He switches from German to heavily-accented English and sinks into a deep bow, "Please pardon my intrusion, but are you speaking with this man?"  
  
"Yes. I am with him." The curt answer she delivers in the soldier's native language startles him. A small jostle against her by Steve tells her to begrudgingly offer up her hand.  
  
"I am Diana."  
  
The German takes her hand and tugs it to himself, dropping a sanctimonious kiss onto her hand. She feels irked. "A beautiful name for a ravishing beauty. But Diana is... French, is it not?"  
  
"It is a name given to me by my mother. I did not know my father well, he was not really there for my childhood—"  
  
"— As he died in the war, fighting for the Kaiser. Her mother moved her to Italy when the war ended."

"Ah, so her parents are...?"

Something about the nature of this man's questions confuses her, so when Steve glances quickly at her, a steady look on his face, she smiles and lets him speak for her. This sergeant clearly wants something from her... but what?

“Her mother is Italian, but her father is German. Her name is Aria Rossi. Her late father was Heinz Meyer."  
  
"Ah… good names, good names. So, Ms Meyer, if you do not mind me asking, what were you and Wagner were in the midst of discussing?"  
  
"Her lodgings for the night. She is... my fiancée." Diana stiffens at this, while Schmidt whips about, clearly thrown off-guard.

"Your— well, I'll be... " She musters up a smile, not knowing what to say, and moves a step closer to her... fiancé, apparently. What is he playing at? What is going on?

“Sorry once again, Madam, but may I have a word with Wagner?"

Once she gives her approval, the rat-faced man leads Steve out of a human's earshot. Diana is not human.

"What is going on, Wagner? I never even knew you had a girl! What is she doing, coming all the way here?"

"Believe me, I am just as surprised at her appearance as you are. She wasn't supposed to be here until next week."

"I did not know you had a girl." she can feel the man's eyes searching her body. "Thank god she has German blood. You cannot tell, with her dark eyes and her skin."

"Like I said, her mother is Italian. Also, the sun in Italy can get very… hot."

"Does Müller—"

"No, I meant to tell him after the games today."

Schmidt winces heavily, "Listen, about that..."

"What is it?"

The other just shakes his head grimly. Steve curses yet again. He casts a hasty look at Diana, knowing that she has heard the entire confession. His stoic expression sends the message is loud and clear — it is time to leave.

"She cannot come with us—"

"I know, Schmidt. Just give me a minute with her, I will be bring the car up front. You go get the Führer."

The other man grips Steve's arm tightly, and then he is off.

"Where should I go now?" Is the first question that leaves her lips when he returns to her. Darting his eyes about the area, he takes her by the hand, squeezing it to let her know that they can't talk here, but he has heard her.

Once they are out in the parking area for vehicles, Steve heaves a frustrated sigh and runs a hand through his light-colored hair.

"Sorry, for what happened back there, Di. This whole thing has gone to shit..." she decides it is best for her to keep her silence until Steve is ready. They walk in brooding silence to a sleek black car parked in a large private lot. Diana watches as he goes to the hood of the car and starts rummaging through his pockets, and after a few moments, pulls out several bank notes, a napkin and a pen. Hurriedly, he scrawls down a name on the paper, along with a string of numbers.

"You get to this coffee shop, it is one of the most popular in the city, so any cab would know how to get you there. Wait there for me, I will come for you." He jabs a finger at the series of numbers, "If you run into trouble, speak English and do not attempt to engage. This number is for you to call if you do run into any sort of fix you cannot get out of. Ask for Josef Wagner and say it is an emergency. Got that?"

She nods hesitantly, and holds out her hands as he presses the napkin and money into her hands, before turning to leave. Unable to help herself, she hangs on to his fingers as he pulls away.

He stops. Turns back to look at her.

Diana searches his face for any indication of something, anything. His eyes are still as blue as the ocean, but his face is so... so torn.

A deep breath. They cannot afford to take their own, sweet time, so she cuts to the chase and takes his (clean-shaven, paler, thinner, older) face in her hands.

"I have missed you."

"..." Without warning, he pulls her into a tight embrace, and both of them hang on for a moment, each of them a boat that is on the verge of sinking, taking the other as their anchor. She can feel their hearts beating in time as he buries his nose into her hair and she kisses his ear, like she always used to do.

Then he pulls away and breathes, voice soft and achingly gentle. His hand is warm and solid in hers.

"Be careful."

She nods and moves away as he steps into the car. The engine purrs like a cat, he pulls out of the lot, and then he is gone.

* * *

 [ _[2 days later]_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11389476)

The stack of papers sit heavy on her lap. Her hands are shaking as she leafs through them, but she's an Amazon, a demigoddess. Her hands never shake. But they are trembling now. Diana resists the urge to fling the papers across the train compartment. Beside her, Penny notices her discomfort and clasps a hand over hers, giving her a sympathetic smile. She cannot find it in her to return that gesture.

These papers are an affliction, a physical representation of the promises she has broken, the time lost, the people left behind. But, a small voice in her head reminds her, he played a part in it this time. He asked you to leave.

Technically, he did not send her away. Not in that manner. He had urged her to take the papers and leave for New York first, without him, as he stayed behind to stall the German authorities. He promised he would meet them there, after things in Germany were done.

_These papers could save us all, Diana. You have to go to New York, find Etta and hand this to her. She will be able to get it to the FBI and Secret Service. They will know what to do with it._

**_But Steve, what about you_ ** **?**

_I will be fine, Angel. Don’t worry. Wait for me in New York, I will come find you there, at Etta’s address._

**_Love, darling, wait—_ **

_I have to go now princess._

A kiss on the lips, sweet and warm, but it only leaves her wanting more. He’s turning and leaving again.

_I will see you on the other side._

Her hand tenses unexpectedly on the documents, and the cover of the folder tears immediately. With a muttered curse, she stands, turning to Doctor Magnus, holding out the stack of papers gingerly.

"I am going to grab a drink. Can you help me take care of this?" The good doctor, who receives the papers from her, nods, eyes glancing from hers to the scrap of paper clipped to the shredded cover of the folder, written in Steve's scrawl. The sight of it made her heart ache. She reached over and plucked it off, holding it out to Tim. "Please memorize this and destroy it."

The man takes it and starts immediately, without question.

"Thank you.”

The food car is empty when she enters, save for one other man sitting at the other end of the carriage, reading the morning papers.

She orders a coffee with an extra shot, no milk, and takes a booth seat and when it comes, she heaps sugar into it. To be honest, she doesn't have her coffee this way, this was how Steve always had his coffee, so in that manner, she was spiting him. The man treats coffee like it is liquid gold, some kind of glorious gift from the gods even though Diana has told him many times over that there is no such thing as a God of Coffee.

If he sees her drinking his coffee order now, he would blow a gasket, and maybe he will appear. She takes a sip of coffee and wishful thinking.

Quite suddenly, the man from the end of carriage slides into the booth seat opposite her. Diana stiffens; she did not notice him move.

He fixes his gaze on her as she lowers her coffee, and clears her throat.

"Can I help you?"

The man sneers at her and she frowns at his behaviour. He is of an average built, with dark brown hair and wearing a business suit, and a complete stranger to her, but there is something about his eyes that makes her stomach flip.

"My dear, I must admit, I am hurt you do not recognise me. I am your only living brother, after all."

It is like someone stole all the air from her lungs.

"Ares?"

"Yes, dear Diana. It is me." The man reclines in his place, looking smug, "You thought yourself pretty clever, didn't you? You and your Steve Trevor, making identical rings so that I would follow his, instead of yours. Such a terrible thing to do as well — for you to ask your partner to carry a curse for your sake, I mean. Selfish, but then again, not entirely unexpected of you Amazons. You have always been quite a... conceited breed."

"What do you want." She ground out, not even bothering to phrase her words as a question.

"I have come to take what is mine. Where are those papers Trevor gave you?"

A chill runs down her spine as she smiles, feeling strangely triumphant. "I will not say."

The gleeful look in Ares' eyes withers in an instant, but if he is trying to intimidate her, it is not working.

"I do not have time for this, you insolent child. Where is it? I know you have it, because that Trevor kid sure didn't."

Her heart drops. "You talked to Steve?"

"Of course, how do you think I found out about this?"

Diana's eyes follow his hand as he rests it on the table, unfolding his fist to reveal a solid, red-gold ring on his palm. It’s the decoy, the other ring.

Steve's.

"He's alright?" She couldn't stop herself from blurting out.

"If you are talking about his physical condition, yes, he was still in one piece when I met him. Although, I must say, he has quite a foul little mouth on him."

She couldn't stop herself from grinning, despite her worry. If Steve was well enough to curse and swear, he was fine for the time being. But now, she had more pressing matters to deal with.

Diana shakes off her thoughts and sticks out her hand. Ares eyes drift lazily to her outstretched palm, then to the determined set of her face.

"What are you doing?"

"Give it to me. The ring. It is not yours."

"Neither is it yours. I saw it and I took it. I am also the one who came up with the enchantments," he spat at her, face twisting into an ugly scowl, "you and your weak little humans just tried to imitate a god's work. You are not worthy of it."

Diana doesn't know at which point her blood started boiling, but her pulse is practically roaring in her ears as she puts together a coherent reply. Schooling her face into a stoic set, she replies coolly, "Well, at least I am not the one who followed the wrong ring. I daresay it was made with effort enough, for its maker to mistake it as the original."

Ares stands up so fast, he almost spills the sugar all over the table. The sugar pot wobbles dangerously as the god slams his hand down.

"Do you think I am that stupid? You should really take a look in a mirror. I have had you tailed since you left the facility, and you didn’t even know!”

"You see, being unintelligent is not usually something I do, but clearly it is a habit of yours. Yes, we did notice the Spartoi you placed on our tail, because we have since apprehended them and threatened them to a life of wandering around with metal embedded in their bones if they did not give us the information we wanted." She brightly at the being's slowly darkening expression. "Also, turns out you aren't that great a boss, so many of your men are more than happy to feed you false information until we give them what they want."

"Why you—"

"The ring."

"Never, never in a million years." Ares looks infuriated, so much so that his reddened face was starting to burn.

She catches herself at that thought, and does a double take. It isn't her eyes deceiving her — Ares was really glowing. And so was she. The god notices this as well, and she hears him let out a 'What in the blazes is going on—' before everything turns white.

When she reopens her eyes, they are no longer on the rattling train carriage, and her coffee has been spilt in the process, forming a muddy pool around her boots, on the pristine marble floor. They are standing in what looks like the throne room of the gods, because she recognises the symbols carved into the empty seats and the raging fireplace that Hestia always tended to. However, today, the fire is burning brightly, brighter than she has ever seen it burn, but Hestia is not there.

A small, throat-clearing sound carries to them, from behind. Diana and Ares both whip around.

A young man of about 20 stood at the doorway of the throne room, his chocolate-coloured curls atop his head and a winged helmet, similar to those worn by the boys in the trenches, with wings sprouting out from either side of them. He was dressed quite simply, in long trousers and a casual shirt, and he had a bland smile on his face.

"Hello, brother and... and sister."

"Hermes." Ares growls, looking unsettled, as the messenger god ambles over, "What are you doing here?"

"Don't you mean _'how am I alive?_ ', dear brother?" The smile on Hermes' face turns cold, "The Olympics this year were fantastic. Of course we had go and take a peek."

"You were—"

"We were everywhere, Ares, hidden in plain sight." At his statement, Hermes transforms into Schmidt, then one of the patrons Diana remembers seeing at the cafe, then Herr Conti. "But as usual, you were so obsessed with your war games that you failed to... well, you failed to do much, actually."

"You're wrong," Ares bares his teeth in a vicious grin, "Humanity is done for. You have no idea what kind of things they are using now — they have gone nuclear. The only way from there is down."

The younger-looking god shrugs as he goes around Ares, like a shark casually circling its prey, "Humans are resilient. I don't know whether they'll survive, but Zeus and Poseidon seem pretty optimistic about it. Hades didn't refute their opinions, so there is likely some truth in that."

Diana watches the pair, fascinated. Ares pales visibly.

"Zeus?"

"Ah yes, I forgot to mention," there is a sharp snap and both of Ares arms get wrenched to the back. The war god yells, clearly surprised. His arms are now encased in gauntlets, not dissimilar to hers, but made or some sort of red-hued gold, almost coppery—

"Greek metal," she glances up at Hermes. He continues, face relaxing to a less stern expression, "When bestowed with the right enchantments, it can hold even a god. It is what your ring is made out of."

"Ah..."

Hermes snaps his fingers and Ares is lifted a few feet off the ground. As the messenger god moves, the struggling figure of Ares follows, yelling and snarling, until Hermes fishes out a cigar from his back pocket. It lengthens to his caduceus and the snakes around it grow, slinking their way to the top of the staff.

"Shut up, you imbecile." The god says mildly as one of the serpents on his staff unfurls, and with a hiss, leaps towards Ares face and enlarges gradually. Eventually when it is done growing, the snake twists round until the god's entire face is obscured, whereupon it gives  a satisfied flick of the tongue, settling its head on top of Ares' hair.

"C'mon, off we go."

Diana remains rooted to her spot as Hermes moves, with Ares floating behind him. He notices her lack of movement, the god looks at her questioningly; she tenses.

"I need to return to Man's world. War is coming, and I have a task to complete."

"Diana, I am sorry," his hand tightens around his staff, "Zeus has specially requested for you to be there. We need a thorough account of what happened since the first war. None of the other minor gods were as involved as you were."

"So this means I have to stay?" Her heart is already sinking. But the documents, the war, and Steve...

"Yes, unfortunately." He sees her hesitation, and tries to reassure her.

"Don't worry, sister, you will not be convicted for anything. We know you did all you can to stop him." He jerks a thumb at the bound and gagged god, "come now, Zeus is likely getting impatient."

"Will I be here for long?"

"Just a few days. Hestia has prepared a room for you."

He doesn't understand her concern, Diana realizes. The gods have been dormant for too long, they no longer know how quickly the time flows on Earth, nor do they understand how easily it was to break a human. Steve forgave her the first time around, but it left scars. He may not be able to find it in him to forgive her again. Diana has broken her promises, one too many times. And while she paid for it in days and curses, Steve paid in years and deep-set loneliness. Her heartbreak lasted slightly over a week; his was prolonged and drawn out, indefinitely.

"We have to go, Diana." Hermes injects slowly, pulling her out of her frenzied thoughts. "Mount Olympus was sealed off when we brought you and this guy in. Zeus didn't want anybody to be able to get out. Earth has suffered enough. Only Zeus can break the seal, and I know you have never met him, but I am telling you that he will not do so until Ares is sentenced."

She exhales softly, bidding her eyes not to burn in crushing despair. It is like her whole world is crashing down around her, all over again. And yet again, she was powerless to stop it.

"Come."

She follows.

* * *

 

When Apollo was defeated by Ares, the Celestial Sun ceased to burn as well, and Olympus no longer had light. It was Iris taught Diana how count the days and nights according to the constellations of the sky. Despite her unkind behaviour at their first meeting, she turned out to be quite a reasonable god who was just troubled and worried about her consort, Zephyrus, one of the few minor gods that Ares had cast into Tartarus for betraying him. 

But it seemed that all the major gods were revived, so with the Celestial Sun, she counted the days she was kept from her world. The trial went on and on, and the gods spent hours upon hours arguing and debating. Her testimony is called upon, time and time again, only to spark off another string of deliberation about Ares' manner of interference.

Her mind wanders constantly to Steve, and with every hour that passes, she knows that approximately a month has come and gone. She counts and counts and loses more than she gains with each minute.

She stops counting when the sun sets for the third time.

* * *

 

"Father, you asked to see me?"

Zeus turns at the sound of her voice, and steps down from his throne to meet her at the floor, where she has just begun to kneel.

"My dear child, there is no need to get on your knees. Come, come, sit with me."

A tap on his throne, and the seat elongates enough to fit two adults.

"What is the matter? Iris made it sound like it was very urgent."

"The trial will end tomorrow." This is new information, it didn't sound like the gods have reached a conclusion of any sort. Although, she stopped paying attention once they hit the 11th hour mark, so she could have missed something today. And yesterday. And the day before.

"I have some things that I believe are yours." She gasps involuntarily as her weapons materialize on her lap. Her shield is in the most pristine condition, as shiny as the first day she set eyes on it. Her gauntlets are polished to the highest shine as well, along with a brand new sword, as well as her trusty old bronze blade.

"Your armor has been placed in your room. If you require anymore reinforcements, feel free to peruse the celestial store for weapons."

"Thank you, Father."

Zeus places his hand on her shoulder, a paternal smile on his face.

"No need to thank me. I merely did what any father would do for his child." he holds out his fist, "There is this as well. It was amongst Ares' belongings, and I noticed it matches yours almost precisely."

Steve's ring is dropped into her hand. She feels her expression freeze. Zeus watches her reaction, not making a comment. Finally, he makes a sound at the back of his throat.

"What is the purpose of this ring?"

"He cursed me. It was meant for him to locate me, as and when he wished."

"And the duplicate?"

"Meant as a decoy. But it... it's mine."

Zeus seems to catch on to the stiffness in her tone, and does not press her for answers. Instead, he places the ring in her hand, carefully. "Keep it safe then."

"I will."

He straightens up as she stows away all the items, except for the ring, on the floor beside the throne.

"There is another thing I want to talk to you about."

Diana spares him a quizzical glance, turning Steve's ring over and over in her hand, mesmerised by the way the carvings glisten in the light.

"It is regarding your... location of residence."

"What about it?"

"What I am trying to suggest here is for you to choose where you wish to be." Zeus peers into her eyes, "You are my daughter, that means you have a place here, in my courts. I will grant you any wish as long as it is within my means, because I know your heart is good and I only want what's best for you. Even though I admit that I have not been the most present father, I still love you dearly."

"That is not your fault, father. You didn't ask to be brought down by Ares."

"Yes, but he is still my son, and I made him a god. I have the responsibility to ensure he does good for humankind, notice when he is struggling, and guide him when he gets lost in his flawed ideals." Zeus shakes his head, "but that is not what I called you here to discuss. I want to know if you would like stay on Olympus, here, With us."

You can hear a pin drop in the silence that ensues. At long last, she speaks, voice low, "That sounds wonderful, Father, but I am sorry for I must refuse."

"... I see."

"My duty lies in Themyscira, as well as on Earth. My heart is still divided on where it wants to be and where it should be, but I know that my place is not here. It is on the field, in the frontline with my people."

She doesn't mention that she no longer knows who her people are. Her mother denounced her as an Amazon because she is the God-killer, and the humans see her as a myth. But Zeus need not know all this; these were her burdens to bear.

"So be it. I will inform Hermes to send you to wherever you please." He embraces her warmly. "Wherever you are, I will watch over you."

Diana hesitates, then murmurs, "It would be nice to visit Mother."

"Then Themyscira it is."

They talk a while more, about the trial and sentencing of Ares, about rebuilding Olympus.  Zeus raises one of Apollo's suggestions to remove the sapphires at the base of the mountain to replace them with new jewels with ever-changing colour properties that some of the minor gods discovered when the gods were still regenerating. Diana opposes it, and Zeus says he will take her request to keep the stones into account when they reach the final stage of deliberations. He doesn't ask for her reasons, but she knows he isn't entirely unaware.

Even gods are allowed to be selfish, once in a while.

Just before she leaves, she pauses.

"Father?"

"Yes?"

"How many days has it been? Since Ares and I arrived."

He raises a brow at her query. She waits.

"It has been approximately 5 days, and 5 nights as of this evening."

10 years. 12 if she counts tomorrow. Her hands tighten around the ring.

"Thank you."

* * *

 

The next day, she arrives on the shores of Themyscira and she can already hear the convoy cantering down the rocky slope to greet her. But she doesn't move, choosing to instead immerse her toes in the water, letting the sand fill her shoes.

If she listens to the sea hard enough, she can almost hear the sputtering of a plane engine, the weighty splash when it drops into the water. If she buries her feet in the ocean bed, she can feel the sand, rough against her bare knees, a thick, sodden coat between her hands, his stubble beneath her fingertips. If she closes her eyes tightly, she sees him, his gold-dappled hair, chiselled jaw; bright eyes, ocean blue.

Then she hears her mother calling her name, a cry of sheer happiness. There are tears standing in her eyes, but she no longer knows who they’re for.

The dream is gone.

 

* * *

 

 

[A spin-off from this chapter is now up.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14232423/chapters/32815371)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so if you already read the first version of this chapter I bet you are like wth is going on. Basically, I deleted the previous chapter because I felt like it was growing far too large/long for it to remain as a portion of this 5+1 fic. So I spliced up the events, with the being the beginning and ending of this portion of the story (don't worry, the other chapters aren't as long, it is just that this one kind of... got away from me).
> 
> Greek terms:  
> Drakon: Dragon  
> Spartoi: Armed soldiers that spring out of the earth; I imagine them as undead, zombie soldiers, but that's just me.  
> Caduceus: the staff or wand of Hermes. Characterized by two serpents in the form of a double helix, entwined around a staff, and sometimes surmounted by wings. 
> 
> There are several new characters in this part, but none of them are mine. Here are their names:  
> Doctor Magnus  
> Tim  
> Penny
> 
> (they can be tied to several unmentioned offscreen characters, whose names are Mark, Leonard, Iro, and Goldberg. Virtual cookies for whoever guesses who they are) (they are a group of superheroes, and they have appeared on TV with the cartoon versions of Diana and Steve before.)
> 
> Also the gods appear, yay. 
> 
> ~~If you want to find out what happens within the time skip, do drop a comment and let me know.~~    
> [Aaaand here it is.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11389476)
> 
>  **Shout-out to the reader who commented on my first version of this chapter** : I am so sorry I forgot to reply, and by the time I remembered the chapter was long gone, and so was your comment. Just wanted to say a huge thank you for your incredibly kind words, and yes the 16 years they spend apart (and Steve spent waiting) is the tragic part. They lost the life they could have had together, and nothing is worse than seeing that happen to someone you love. Thank you so so much for reading! :)
> 
> P.S. I'm on tumblr, you can find me [here](http://the-superhero-rush.tumblr.com/)
> 
> P.P.S comments are love, please do let me know what you think ><
> 
> (long author note is long sorry)


	3. it's just that at night (i've got nowhere to hide)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana makes a new friend, and gets a chance to find out what happened to Steve after she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Ages:**  
>  **Charlie - Born in 1885**  
>  **Chief - anywhere between 30-40**  
>  **Diana - anywhere between 25-35**  
>  **Etta - Born in 1895**  
>  **Sameer - Born in 1880**  
>  **Steve - Born in 1892**
> 
> Two new characters appear in this chapter: **Esther Jemma Hardy** (an OC), and **DONNA TROY** (also known as the very first Wonder Girl or Troia) (told you the sidekicks would appear)
> 
> As usual, all grammar mistakes are mine, I may come back and correct them if I spot them in my re-reads.
> 
> Happy Reading!

**1.**

_In the dream_

_at the gate to your grave_

_you stopped me_

_with the same words_

_I had spoken in a dream_

_where I died before you_

_so now I can no longer dream._

 

**4.**

_On every trip you stay ahead of me._

_On platforms I see your footprints in fresh snow._

_When the train starts to move_

_you jump out of the back carriage_

_to reach the next station ahead of me._

 

**7.**

_You are gone._

_Three words. And not one_

_of them_

_exists now in any_

_other context._

_- **Henrik Nordbrandt** , [At the Gate]_

  1. 1965



It is a brisk Friday afternoon in New York, and change in the seasons provoked many seek out warm drinks and warm places. She is waiting in line at her favorite coffee place to grab a drink before heading home when she sees a flash of red and hears a familiar, bubbly laugh echo from the front of the line. Curious, she sticks her head out of the queue just in time to see a smiling, rosy-cheeked girl thank the barista for her coffee before moving out of the queue, towards an empty table just by the shop window. Her eyes are a bright green, just like her old friend's, her flaming red hair falling in gentle waves to her shoulders. Diana's breath catches in her chest.

"Etta?"

The young woman turns at her stunned exclamation, and Diana finds herself staring into the face of a girl she once knew as Etta Candy, the same heart-shaped face framed by a very different hairstyle of long, flowing, red-gold waves that obscure one side of her face.

But this cannot be Etta, for Etta would be close 70 by now, and this girl was barely 30.

"Sorry, do I know you?" she sounds just like Etta, but the quizzical look in her eye crushes Diana. This is not her.

"I — I'm sorry, I must have mistook you for someone else. Please, pardon my intrusion..."

"No, wait, wait," the young lady catches her arm before she manages to turn and leave. She averts her gaze, not wanting the woman to see how her face was reddening with embarrassment. "You called me Etta; that was my mother's name. Did you know my mother?"

"Was?"

“Well, she died years ago, when I was a baby.”

So Etta was dead. So many of her first friends are gone, so many good men and women. She attended Sammy's funeral just last month, and Charlie has also passed on, two years ago. Chief is still alive, but he is more ancient than her, and he knows his time is drawing to a close.

"I am sorry for the loss of your mother. I am Diana. Diana Prince, and yes, I knew her when she... when I was younger."

"Diana Prince? Your name, I have heard or seen it somewhere before... are you sure I look like your Etta? I am not even sure if your Etta is the same Etta as my mum." Words tumble from the girl's mouth, not dissimilar to the way Etta used to chatter on. It is almost as if they were back in London, heading to a cafe to have coffee after visiting Steve at the military hospital, or waiting for the rest at the bar for a merry night of drinking, on one of Diana's rare nights off from studying, the boys and Etta's from working.

"Ah...mm... Oh! Dear me, where are my manners! I am so sorry, come, come sit with me, I have a table."

As she follows the girl to her seat, she starts to see some differences between who she knew Etta to be and this girl, who, presumably, is her daughter. Where Etta was rotund and boisterous, this woman was petite and moved with a sort of bashfulness, as if afraid to get in people's way. Her smile is not as blinding as Etta, instead, it has a melancholic quality to it. She must have been a child during the war, if Diana is getting her age right. That must have been... traumatizing.

"My name is Esther, Esther Jemma Hardy. My mama's name was Etta Margaret Candy, that is who you were calling for right? When you saw me."

She nods as she takes seat. Esther gives her another smile, tucking an errant lock of copper hair behind her ear. "My papa says I look exactly like her, but like I said, she died when I was very young, so I wouldn't know. How did you get to know my Ma?"

"I... we... we worked together, before the second war. She and I were fast friends, Steve introduced us."

As soon as Steve's name slips out, something seems to click and Esther's face lights up.

"Ooh! Steve, as in Steve Trevor?"

Diana's heart leaps into her throat and her hand automatically go to his ring, the one Ares taunted her with, which she now wears around her thumb.

"You know him? He is still alive?"

"Oh no, I do not know him personally, but he used to be my mother's boss! My Papa has always been slightly bitter about him; apparently my mother had quite a crush on him back in the day." She giggles and Diana finds herself laughing along as well. Her heart warms and ached simultaneously at the sound of her voice... Etta... and Steve...

Etta’s disappearance had been just as hard on their small group of friends as Steve’s. Not one of them knew where Etta had gone, although they did search very hard for her. She left shortly after Diana vanished, according to Sammy, saying that it was time she got back to her family, and that she could not afford to be tangled in another conflict of that size. That was in 1925.

She sobers up quite abruptly, without meaning to, and her hands slacken into loose fists on the table. Esther catches on to her change in mood; she drops a comforting hand on hers, gripping tightly as Diana's eyes well up, quite involuntarily, with tears.

"Hey, hey there. It's alright, you're alright." She struggles to compose herself. Esther's hand slips away from her, and then she hears a jostle and the woman is now in the seat, just beside her. When the tears finally ebb, and her mind is no longer running at breakneck speed, spinning with emotions, she hears the Esther clear her throat.

"Diana. Diana, look at me." She lifts her eyes to meet her bright green ones. "I may not have known my mother, but there is something I need to show you. Is that ok?"

Diana nods. Esther takes a deep breath to steady herself, looks uncertainly into Diana's waiting face.

"Just... fair warning. This can be quite unpleasant for most people, and I am not sure if you have a gag reflex or eugh, I normally don't bring this up in regular ol' conversations, trust me, I like you a lot like I really do, but I think you deserve to know what happened to my mum. She was your friend after all... so promise me you won't judge me after this —"

"Esther, I am fine."

"I'm just saying! I had a boyfriend who really didn't like it, like really, really did not like it, no sir, and he tried to make me cover it up—"

"Esther."

The girl takes a deep breath and pulls away the curtain of hair from the side of her face. What it reveals is a large ropey scar, bulging from her temple to her jaw, whitened and stretched with age. It is clearly an old scar, but still shocking in appearance. Diana reaches over with a hand and pauses.

"May I?"

"Uhm... sure. G-go ahead." The young lady grimaces slightly when her fingers gently graze the skin surrounding the old wound. Diana suspects it is not the actual wound that she is flinching away from, but more of the memory of its origin.

"What happened?"

"There is this too." She pulls up her sleeve to reveal the uneven and damaged surface of her left forearm, "I got both of these when a bomb dropped on our apartment during the war. I was one. My mother, Etta, shielded me from the brunt of the explosion. We were buried for nearly 3 days. She breastfed me and that's how I survived. But she was not as lucky." A solitary tear escapes the young woman's emerald eyes as she pushes her hair and sleeve back in place.

"Esther."

"Sorry," she says with a shaky laugh, swiping at her tears, "Oh dear, this is not how I usually start friendships I promise you..."

Now it is her turn to close her hands over the younger woman's trembling ones.

"I understand."

The two shaken women sit there, finding comfort in the presence of each other, the weight of all that they’ve lost hanging between them.

“I understand.”

* * *

Midway through their coffee and cakes (after Esther recovers from recounting her story, she bustles her way over to the counter with Diana's preferred coffee order, despite her helpless protests, and returned with a grin, coffee and teacakes in tow), her new (old?) friend exclaims aloud, almost making Diana drop her beverage.

"Oh! Oh dear! I remember now! I remember why your name is so familiar!" Esther claps her hands together, beaming.

"I was so occupied with trying to place your name together with my ma's, trying ro remember where I remember seeing your name, that it didn't occur to me that your name should have gone with another." Her eyes glitter with barely contained excitement, "Steve. Steve Trevor left you a letter, in my Mama's care."

Diana's heart leaps.

"Really? When?"

"Not too sure, he mailed it over to my Ma in 1936, and I remember the date it was sent out because it is the same day as my birthday, August 10th! Of course, mail was slower then so it would have gotten to my mother sometime in September. Of course, then if my mother wrote back it would have reached him in October or November, well, you get my drift... What's wrong?"

The young woman halts at her stricken expression. He's still alive. She left him behind on August 5th and he sent her a letter on 10th thinking she got to Etta's. Great Hera. Did Etta write and tell him she never showed? Did he have to learn through someone else's words that she was gone again, that she abandoned him again?

How much did he suffer?

"Did he not tell you he left you a letter? Did my Ma not say?"

"I—" she clears her throat, trying to get rid of the lump that has now formed up in her larynx. "I disappeared for approximately 10 years, as Steve did, in 1936. By the time I was back..."

"He was long gone, and Mother was dead," Something akin to realisation dawns on the girl's youthful face, "but because she left no friends for us to contact, save for her sisters and Steve, no one knew."

"Did he ever say where he was in the letter?"

"Ma never opened it, I think she meant to keep it for you. My dad kept it and handed it down to me, along with all their letters of correspondence."

She reaches out and grips Esther's arm. "Do you still have them with you?"

The twinkling grin that spreads across her new friend's face is all the answers she needs.

"My apartment. Shall we?"

* * *

They weave through the bustling streets of New York to Esther's apartment building, which is only a couple of blocks down the road from the shop. Diana smiles at Esther's attempt to have a proper, full-fledged conversation over the din of the streets and the blustery autumn wind. The late afternoon sun filters through the concrete skyscrapers, washing Esther's coppery hair with gold light and framing her face beautifully, like a halo.

Diana thinks her quite beautiful, and wishes that the woman felt the same about herself. It is difficult to see someone so full of light have to take hide her face in the shadows of her luscious locks and her arms in sleeves and coats.

Esther is now attempting to ask her about her studies in history and psychology, but her words are lost in a sudden increase in the level of commotion around them. Nevertheless, her exuberance makes Diana smile.

The joy, however, is short-lived.

"Goodness, what is that?" There is a crowd just a few streets in front of them, and it was so huge that it filled up half the pavement, and spilled onto the main road, obstructing traffic. Diana's young friend stands on her tiptoes, craning her neck and trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on. Then all color washes out of her face.

"D-Diana. That's my building."

"What?"

"That building, that is my apartment block."

They quicken their footsteps. Drawing closer, it becomes clear what the problem is.

The entire block is burning.

Even standing at the very edge of the crowd, Diana can feel the heat on her face. The inferno rages, whiting out her ears with its fearsome roar. Once she gets accustomed to the noise, however, she is able to hear something far more horrifying than the flames.

"Esther.”

It steadily becomes clearer, like nails on a chalkboard.

“Esther, there are still people in there."

"Holy—" she stares dazedly at the fire, ears filling with the desperate screams and calls of those caged in the building, and the hysterical cries of survivors on the ground, unable to come to the aid of their loved ones, only able of watch helplessly as they burned to death.

No. This is not happening. Not on her watch.

"Esther, I need you to do me a favor."

* * *

Her armor glows with the flames as she bursts into the threshold of a burning room. She searches each apartment thoroughly, and whenever she chances upon someone, she takes them. If they’re alive, she flies them out into the street immediately to receive medical attention. If they are dead, she flies them to lower units that have yet to be touched by the fire.

By pure chance, she comes across Esther's apartment. She is dropping off the body of a young woman when she spots a framed photo on the mantel piece of the room. It is of a beaming Etta, with a strapping middle-aged man who is grinning broadly, and a sweet baby in the woman's arms that had a tuft of curly hair at the top of her head. Without thinking, she reaches for the photo, breaks the frame and gingerly extracts the sliver of paper.

There is a part of her, an incredibly selfish part of her that wants to stop right there and then and scour the apartment for Etta's letters, and Steve's. She longs to hear Etta's kind voice, witness her occasional but impeccably sharp wit. She longs to see Steve’s messy scrawl, hear Steve speak again his calm warm voice, so different from the clinical tone of his communicative work journals.

At that moment, the soft cry of an infant catches her attention, snapping her back into reality.

No. There were people to save. Living breathing humans. Steve and Etta's letters are just lifeless words on lifeless paper, and they have waited for almost 3 decades. They can afford to wait a little longer. And as for Steve… she would rather hear him in person, when she finally found him again. She is sure he is out there somewhere, waiting.

Diana folds the photograph and shoves it into her armor before going off in search of the crying child. The princess follows the wails to an apartment above Etta's, a few units down the corridor. The sight that greets her as she enters the apartment is heart-wrenching.

A soot-faced, black haired toddler sits bawling beside the still body of a man who looks as if he died from a blow to the head by a falling beam. The other rooms are too far gone to enter, but the smell of cooking flesh and the lack of response when she calls out tells her all that she needs to know about this child's relatives.

As she gathers up the child in her arms, she stops crying and gazes up at her with wide confused eyes.

"It's alright, love," she says to her, voice hoarse from the smoke, "It's okay."

Except it's not, and as Diana flies out of building with the girl in her arms, she can't help feeling as if both of them have each left something terribly important behind.

* * *

The building is cleared of survivors by evening light; the dead are laid out on the street, covered haphazardly by any sort of sheet or cover neighbors could spare. Most of the bodies are burnt beyond recognition, but Diana has searched every corner of the building; save for the dead animals, there is no one left in it.

She is exhausted by the time Esther finds her in the back alley. She lets the woman fuss over the state of her appearance and help her hold up a coat as she changes back into clothes, not missing her deliberate aversion of the topic of her new friend turning out to be both highly fire-resistant and capable of flight. Her friend's eyes well up with tears when she hands her photograph and she puts it carefully in her coat before tackling Diana with a hug with surprising level of ferocity she did not expect from a girl of such a dainty size. The movement makes her half-healed burns sting, but it is worth it.

At her personal request, before she returned to Themyscira, her father modified her weapons and armor to make them more portable. They can now be easily concealed, with her shield capable of turning into a powder compact with a sharp rap against the wall, her sword a lipstick when the handle is pushed towards the hilt, and her armor an arm cuff that can be worn under her clothing.

She stows away all her things and straightens out her outfit, unable to do anything about the visible scratches and soot, but she doubts she will look out of place amongst the soot-covered survivors and bystanders alike.

As Esther guides her out of the alley way, watching her carefully, as if ready to catch her if she faltered, she hears a familiar cry emit from behind them. Before she knows it, something small barrels into her at knee level.

“Wha—”

It is the toddler that she rescued from the apartment. Her face has been haphazardly cleaned by someone, but she was crying again, sounding breathless and pitiful.

"Hello there," she lifts her up into her arms, "Didn't the paramedics say you needed medical treatment?"

The girl doesn't answer, taking instead to grip onto Diana tightly. She can feel her shaking like a leaf, and she is clammy; the kid is in shock, she should be at the hospital.

"Hey, lady! That's ma kid! Get away from her!" The shout sends the young child into another bout of hysterics, curling her small fist tighter around the fabric of her coat.

"Don't shout, you've frightened her." Diana advises the man who comes to a halt in front of her panting slightly. He is a shifty-looking figure, and as draws himself to full height to glare at her and Esther, he is still a full head shorter than Diana. The pleasant smile slides off Esther's face, replaced by a small frown.

"Yeah, yeah lady, whatever. Now hand her over to me will ya?"

Instinctively, Diana pulls the girl closer and narrows her eyes in suspicion.

"And who exactly are you to her, if you don't mind us asking?"

"I am her father, I left the apartment to grab some groceries, so I was out when the fire started. I left her with her mother in the apartment."

"Just her and her mother? And where is her mother?" As Esther questions the man, Diana watches his expression. She already knows he is lying, there were other people in the apartment besides the young girl, and moreover, she found her with a man— there was no woman in sight.

"Yeah, just the two of them. I don't know whereabouts her mama is. Now can I have ma child?" She balances the sobbing child on her hip as she lowers her right hand.

"Lasso." She feels the smooth rope slip fluidly into her hand on command and with a small flick of her wrist, it wraps itself around the man's wrist.

"What the f—"

"Who are you? What do you wish to do with this girl?"

The man stiffens like an electric pulse has just run through his body. "My name is Carson Reeves, I am a child smuggler and I sell orphaned and abandoned children to the sex slave trade. This kid is named Donna, she has no last name that we know of, she is one of our items, and her sale is still pending. She is a real pretty girl, great screamer. She is going to fetch me a lot of money."

Diana feels her blood turn cold, and Esther's mouth has fallen open, her face an expression of mortification. The man falls silent and his blank expression contorts to a growl, but there is fear in his eyes.

"Let me go now. You have no right to do this!"

She ignores him and turns to Esther, handing the child into her hands. The young woman mutely takes the now whimpering child and rubs a soothing hand on her back, glaring daggers at the man. Diana extracts her tape recorder that she uses for her studies from her coat pocket and changes out the tape calmly, slotting in a clean roll. She hits the record button and looks up suddenly to the man. He looks taken aback by the calm, almost cheerful expression on her face.

"I didn't quite catch that, sir." she smiles sweetly as the lasso starts to glow, "Now, do you mind repeating yourself?"

* * *

Esther follows her back home, given that there was no way she could access her own apartment under such circumstances. As Diana gives the little girl, who is no longer as distressed or upset before, a warm bath, Etta leaves the house to get some clothes for the next few days.

Donna turns out to be just about the sweetest little girl Diana has ever had the privilege of meeting. Once cleaned, her deep brown hair falls into limp curls around her shoulders, and she giggles adorably as Diana cleans her. When asked for a reason for her amusement, she looks at Diana with large, intelligent eyes and whispers, with the shy lisp of a child, "Tickl'y."

By the time Etta returns with dinner and clothes in haul, Diana has dressed her in the smallest shirt she owned, a long-sleeved blouse that previously shrank in a wash. The child swims in the garment, but is very amused by the sleeves that are too long for her small arms.

The redhead squeals at the sight of the child and goes straight over to kiss her on her rosy cheeks, making her giggle all over again.

"Oh, you are the loveliest little thing that I've ever seen! Dear heavens, thank God we saved her from those people." Etta cradles the child into her arms, making her squeal and giggle when the woman starts blowing raspberries on her forehead. "What are we going to do with you?"

"I will take her back to my home country. They will care for her and she will grow up to be a fine young woman."

"And... where exactly is this country of yours?" Esther says sharply, then softens after a beat. She rocks the little girl in her arms, staring up at Diana with a hard gaze.

"Do you have anything you want to tell me?"

She reads Esther's face for fear, for that is the general reaction she receives when she divulged her identity. But all she sees is anger, and perhaps hurt.

"I am... I am not like you."

"I figured as much. You are not a human?"

"I am half. I am a demigod, half human, half Greek God."

Esther sucks in a breath. "So your mother—"

"Oh, my mother is an Amazon, the queen of the Amazons, actually. Hippolyta. She is human but has enhanced abilities because she was created by the gods,” Diana explains, “My father is Zeus."

She falls silent. Just at that moment, the kettle whistles to a boil; Diana strides past the woman to take it off the stove.

"Hold on, so the flying gold streak the survivors were babbling on about? That was you?"

"Yes."

"Are you immune to fire? And smoke inhalation? How did you manage to survive in that tower?"

"I am not immune to injury, however, I heal very quickly. I am also impervious to most poisonous and detrimental airborne particles, so yes, I am immune to smoke."

"Ok. Well." The toddler has managed to acquire a lock of hair from Esther, and is now twisting it around in her tiny fist, intrigued. A particularly hard tug makes the woman carrying her wince, "Ow. I mean, wow. So... where are you are taking Donna?"

"To my homeland, Themyscira. It is a hidden island somewhere in the North Atlantic. My mother and sisters are good people, and perfect candidates for raising a child." Diana holds out her hands for the child. Donna notices the movement and releases the copper lock of hair, opting to whine for Diana's embrace instead. Esther does not look convinced, but she still passes the girl over to Diana, then moving closer to stroke the girl's damp hair.

"You are leaving now?"

"No, we will leave at first light."

"Will you return?"

Diana raises a brow at Esther as Donna picks up a piece of her hair to play with.

"Of course. Where else would I go? Earth is my home now. Furthermore—" Diana pauses to adjust Donna on her hip, "I have class on Monday."

Esther responds with a small grin, hand still absentmindedly stroking Donna's head. She looks like she is about to say something when Donna's tummy gives the surprisingly loud grumble. The two women break out into laughter at the sound.

"Sounds like someone is hungry." The little girl smiles widely as Esther tweaks her nose playfully.

"Let's eat then. We can put her to bed and talk after that."

Her friend nods, "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Goddess Iris is happy to see her again, and when she learns Diana is trying to contact Hermes for a quick ride home, she offers to give her a lift instead ("It is just you and a child, I have more than enough energy for that!"). As it turns out, Diana learns on their journey back to Themyscira, Zephyrus just recently revived, and she is now happily reunited with her consort. He is clearly overjoyed to be with her as well, for her Pegasi-drawn chariot has all the updrafts blowing in their favor, and they reach the shores of Paradise Island in less than 30 minutes.

When they land, Donna is unwilling to be parted from the winged horses, and she is so tearful that Diana overhears Iris promising her a newborn colt of her own, if she performs well in her training on the island. The goddess is clearly in a fine mood today. Not just fine, perhaps. Ecstatic. Through the roof, as she would like to think Steve would say.

She would have return to New York as soon as possible, before the sun sets on Themyscira. According to Iris, wh gladly volunteered the information when she asked, the next time void the island will lapse into will begin as soon as the clock struck 9 in the evening, so about an hour or two after dusk. Once they enter the void, it may take them a few years to return, and who knows what would have become of her beloved World by then?

Esther has promised to maintain her apartment, she was more than happy to, seeing how she no longer had a place to go. In return, she will return to the site of the disaster on the very day Diana left with Donna to recover her belongings and hopefully the letters. There was still a chance for her to see her dear Steve again, even it were to be only through ink and paper.

She thanks Iris for her kindness and wishes her a pleasant journey back to her husband. To her surprise, the rainbow goddess seizes her by her hands quite suddenly and looks into her face with the most solemn expression she has ever seen on her face. And Diana understands it, perfectly.

 _Good luck_.

* * *

Alas, when is luck ever on the side of the good people?

Esther Jemma Hardy knows this feeling all too well, this sinking feeling in her chest of disappointment. She has felt it many times before, when her father forgets her birthday once again, in favor of his business, when her new friends at the playground step back, horrified at the scars that mar her visage. When the men she sees cover up their looks of disgust with flimsy smiles, drawing back ever so slightly at her mottled arms. Sitting alone in her apartment, with nothing but the words exchanged between others to get her through.

She has friends, and most of them write her. But still, she longs for family. She wonders how family feels like. So through her mother's many words with her sisters, parents, and Steve, she learns to appreciate these people she will never know. If she thinks hard, she can recall Steve and his letters, his eloquent, humorous way of writing, and she remembers the name Diana appearing in many of his messages. He talked about her with much longing, frustration, and bitterness. He is always confused about why she left, and wonders if she has forgotten him. But not once did he rage at the woman that caused him that heartbreak — Mr. Trevor did not just admire the lady; he was enamoured of her.

She wishes she has had for love like that, sometimes. Other times, she finds herself aimless and lost in a crowded room. But although she does not remember her mother's embrace, occasionally, in her dreams, there comes a sweet dimpled smile, the brush of soft, amber locks against her cheek. And she knows it is her Ma. She wishes she could revive that same sort of fond memories for Diana, instead of all the hurt and guilt she feels about leaving Steve behind. That much she had gleaned from the conversation they had, just after the baby had fallen asleep. The letters would have helped, so as soon as she is allowed, Esther returns to her apartment to search for them.

The place is in shambles, black with soot and ashes. Her furniture is intact, but barely so. All material is lost, save for her mother's jewellery and a family photo album, which she hid in the mattress. She rummages through her blackened cupboard to unearth the wooden box she kept the letters in, noticing straightaway with a heavy heart that the box has now been reduced to a mangled skeleton of what it once was. The letters are gingerly extricated and she begins her search; she has always placed the envelopes back in the box in chronological order. That way, if any old friend wrote her deceased mother in an attempt to reconnect, she could reply them and continue collecting the letters, with the most recent on top.

So of course her heart drops like a stone when she sees the condition of the first few letters, or rather, the lack of the first 20-odd letters. It has largely been reduced to ashes, and as Esther sits on a bench nearby the razed apartment block, she finally reaches Steve’s letter.

The letter is burnt to a crisp, with only the foremost portion surviving the flames. Esther stares sadly at the few forlorn words that remain, wondering could it have all gone so wrong. With a sigh, she keeps them still, storing them carefully until Diana finally returns.

The expression on the princess' face when she explains, and finally hands over the devastated scrap of paper is heartbreaking. She can only offer her hug to the Diana’s resolute silence, as the woman’s wandering fingers continue to search for comfort in the familiar script, despite knowing they will be unable to find anything but disappointment in their endeavors.

**_To Diana, my greatest love,—_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this ends this part. I hoped everyone enjoyed it, even with the OC. I'm not the kind of writer who likes to center the story around characters created by me, but I had to reinvolve Etta somehow, and I could not envision a septuagenarian still romping around town having meals and teas with her ageless best friend. So I revived her in the form of her daughter, did it all in the name of poetic justice... or is it prose-tic justice?
> 
> Ah, I no longer know what I am saying. Please do let me know what you thought! It would be so amazing to hear from you all :D
> 
> P.S. I will be going off on a short holiday after today, and where I am going there is very little internet access. But fret not, I will still write the next part, it's just that it may be some time before I get to post it.
> 
> P.P.S. I'm on tumblr, you can find me [here](http://the-superhero-rush.tumblr.com/)


	4. i know the stars are holding you (tonight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she sees him again, he is no longer who he was.

_They say home_

_Is where your heart is_

_But what do I do when_

_My heart_

_is six feet underground_

_With you?_

**_Unknown_ **

 

  1. 1990



His eyes are the wrong color.

That is the first childish thought that rises to her mind when he lands in front of her. The next thought is that this isn't her Steve, because her Steve can't jump from such a height without hurting himself, he has a bad back. They are in 1936, and he has a bad back.

The world washes out and suddenly she is struck by grief so immense and all consuming, she stumbles. Etta, or rather, the reanimated corpse of Etta Candy who she had been fighting before Steve appeared, takes advantage of her opening and pounces, gray mouth warped into a gruesome, soundless snarl, and face contorted with anger that Diana has never seen her deceased best friend display. She is numb as she attempts to move out of the line of fire, does not manage to avoid the blow entirely. It winds her more than a human punch should because this thing is not human and this is not Etta, not her dear sweet Etta, but nothing can be compared to the agony that is slowly threatening to overwhelm her being.

He is dead. He has been dead this whole time and all the while she thought—

Her fist swings out automatically and Etta is knocked to the ground. An arrow pierces her skull and the black light in her dead, green eyes go out. Green Arrow. She turns to see Oliver get attacked by his dead father, the cost that he was paying for the aid he conferred to her.

She sinks to the ground, watching the twitchy movements of Steve, unable to pull her eyes away from his demonic green eyes. It is an effect of the spell, it turned the eyes of all its affected parties green. It also reverted them to the prime of their life, which explained why he looked like… he looked younger, much younger than he did, when she last kissed him in 1936.

This is not 1936.

The last gun she ever saw him with is in his hand, his Luger. A gun that is 30 years out of date and the only possession of his she never managed to reclaim or find. It had been on his person when he disappeared. Seeing it drew the whole scene into sharp relief, forcing her to confront the fact that Circe could only control and manipulate the dead and leading her to the only possible conclusion.

This is her Steve, and Steve is dead.

When she returned to USA in 1950, Diana managed to find Chief in Los Angeles. She stayed in his family home for a few years before moving to New York, and during that time, they re-established contact with Sammy and Charlie-- both had settled in London with their families. According to them, Steve never returned to London after the war. Chief also gave her the key to Steve's storage unit in LA, citing that he left it in the American’s care when he left on his assignment in Germany. His sister had passed on in her late 30s, years and years ago, and left behind a family who knew next nothing of Steve because of the siblings' strained relationship since the first war.

After the events of 1965, where the very last letter he mailed to Etta, meant for her, was destroyed in the fire, she and Esther had given up hope of finding substantial information about the exact details of his fate. However, because he was never found, and no bodies ever did turn up, to her, that meant that he was still alive. She always thought he would be somewhere, still alive, even though it meant that he would be over 90 years of age by this point. If she wants to be pragmatic, she imagines that he at least married after the second war, had children, grandchildren, maybe even great-grandchildren. However, more often than not, she likes to think that he is out there, still looking for her, still in love with her, with his Angel.

That much she hoped. She hoped he had been just in hiding this whole time, or lost. Or incapacitated in some way that prevented him from getting to them. But not dead. Never dead.

Steven is a good, loyal man. He was kind and fierce all at once, and loved everything about her. He would never mock her, never put her out for her naiveté or criticize her stubbornness, or force her to change her mind. Her Steve would never level his gun at her like that. Never look at her with such an absence of emotion and never sneer at her, like he is doing now. This corpse defied everything she believed about Steve; this is not him

The first shot rings out like a death bell and just misses, scraping her left arm like a bee sting. It startles her, and suddenly she isn't just a wreckage of emotion, filled with agony, or bewildered, she is angry. She is livid.

Her Steve never misses, and this poor, incompetent model of him is just that, a faulty reanimated corpse. It is not him. It is. **Not**. Him.

She lunges blindly, mouth exhaling in a hoarse, raw cry, and sword pulled back in preparation to sink into her beloved. No, the pale imitation of him, of all his strength and love and kindness and—

The corpse's flesh gives way under the blow, her sword moving like a hot knife through butter as it buries itself in his chest, with a hollow thud. Clotted, rotting blood spills out over her feet as he collapses in a heap, writhing and howling at an inhuman pitch. She presses its seizing body to the ground and is about to withdraw her weapon to put through his skull when the spasming ceases.

"An... Angel?" Diana's blood turns to ice. The feeling of dread and the agony of grief restart their influence over her heart, continues eating into her bones, as she slowly turns her eyes to his.

The green light is gone, replaced by that unforgettable, iridescent blue. There is a semblance of color seeping back into his grey complexion, but the blood that is staining his lips as he struggles to breathe is still that same cloying, fatal black. Her hand falls to her side, stinging from the force of her swing.

Steve's chest heaves as he fumbles for words, eyes locking onto hers, hazy with pain and confusion, but also fevered with affection.

Her heart crumples.

"Love." It comes out as a croak.

Unconsciously, her arms gather the dying form of the man she loves, the only man she has ever loved, into her trembling embrace.

"You— you're bleeding, wha—" his fumbling hand reaches for her arm. Her gore is stark on his filthy palm, and morbidly bright next to his own tarry-black blood.

"Wha- zzgoing..." his breath sputters and fails him and he breaks into a fit of painful, wet coughs. An inconsolable sob slips past Diana's lips as he struggles to refocus his gaze as his eyes go green, then back to blue.

He was leaving, again. Leaving her. She can't do this. She can't just watch as he dies. Above all, she can't watch him turn into that… thing again. He doesn't deserve that. Her body is shaking like a leaf in the autumn wind and she doesn't trust herself to speak. This _cannot_ be real. He looks into her face, and something seems to dawn on him.

"Prin...cess.”

His eyes are earnest, even in their agony. And then suddenly, both of them are young again, and they are back on the beach on Paradise, and he is lying before her once more, only this time, she is not filled with hope and curiosity, but despair and agony.

“Steve… please. Don’t try to speak— _Steve_.” She whispers, struggling to be coherent. Her only free hand cradles his face and strokes his cheek ever so gently, as he locks gazes with her.

"It...s... kay, Di...ana," he manages, and his eyes flicker green, holding the color for a beat before they are blue, bright, and brilliant again.

She knows what she has to do, and so does he. Yet he graces her with the softest, sweetest smile as she draws her short bronze dagger from her boot and plunges it into his skull. The bone yields like paper against the enchanted metal and Steve is gone. Again.

Diana can't see anything now, her vision is a suffocating haze of tears and she feels as though she has been wrenched into two. She doesn't remember anything else after that, only that she blindly cuts through droves of the bodies, belonging to the loved ones of her friends. Belonging to her own loved ones, as few as they were. Sammy, Charlie. Matthew, Charlie's youngest, and Nassim, Sammy's oldest, both who died in the Vietnam war. _._

When the battle was on its first legs, she saw Batman grimly plunging his batarang into the skull of his mother and remembers thinking it cruel that Circe only chose to revive the mortal dead of the League members. Even Superman has human friends that have died in the course of his short life, here on earth. Circe caught most of them off guard this time, it made her angry until she saw Steve. And then it was a blank.

The final thing she remembers is picking aimlessly through the countless bodies on the field, rotting and falling apart, looking for best friend and lover, as well as her brothers from the first war, Sammy, Charlie, and their children, her dear, brave friends, long dead from age. She finds the others first and promptly returns them to their rightful graves which stand, overturned and empty.

It is Shayera who lifts his body out from carnage after most of the other deceased have been recovered and identified. It is Bruce who wordlessly hands her his cape for her to swath the body, and Barry carefully who takes him away from her again — she has to fight every particle within her in order to keep herself from wrenching the corpse back to hold in her arms once more. It is Clark who embraces her mutely before flying off to mourn his father, yet again, Dinah who holds her as she finally breaks down at the end of the night, unable to continue with the reburying efforts, unable to fly yet another body to its broken grave and place them back into the ground, unable to face the realization that they have no grave to return Steve's body to.

In the end, she waves aside the worries of her (new, younger, idealistic) teammates (friends) and flies him to the home of his childhood.  She has had many years to herself, even after the formation of Justice League, and owns several important properties in Kansas, including a plot of land where Steve grew up upon. Diana closed off the land with the help of her mother, and she rebuilt the derelict house with Bruce and Clark; the place has since become just as much of a home to her as well.

That is where she keeps her Paradise-bred mares, and a whole field of vegetation native only to Themyscira. It is her past, and everything she has once known is kept safe there, flourishing. All are joyful parts of her past.

Steve is a joyful component of her being as well, but she never wanted him to become part of her past. His death is the first and last tragedy she brings to her private oasis. She buries him under the large oak that stands in amid her field of vivid yellow carnalias. She thinks Steve would recognize it— the owner she bought the property from, who inherited it from her grandmother, a certain Stephanie Trevor, says it has been there since the 1850s, and many a generation had grown up under its shade.  

Diana hopes he is finally at peace as she lays him down on a bed of fresh straw at the six feet under. She finally takes the ring that was his and slides it on his left ring finger, before giving him one last kiss, on his forehead.

Hal arrives to help her lift the soil into the grave; she is no longer surprised at his sudden appearance. The League is shaping out to be a new kind of family, and while it was unable to measure up to the company of her sisters back on Paradise, it comes very close to that. They take care for one another and look out for each other.

She plants ambrosine blossoms on both sides of the newly made grave, and places his coat and dog tags into a box, beside the flowers. Her heart catches in her throat.

So it is true, that poem.

It is indeed a fearful thing, to love what death can touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know, this is a short chapter. But honestly, this is my favorite chapter out of the bunch? Mostly because it was so tragic and sad and the words came really easily to me. I enjoy being able to write without having to plan every other trajectory :D
> 
> Tell me what you all thought about this! And thank you so much for reading <3
> 
> P.S. I'm on tumblr, you can find me [here](http://the-superhero-rush.tumblr.com/)


	5. i will keep you warm (save you from the storm)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So close, yet so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set during the **Blackest Night Crisis** although the event is not mentioned in explicit detail. Enjoy!
> 
> Edit: to those who read this when it first came out... people I honestly am so honoured that you would read the fic even with all its weird typos and spelling errors that I missed entirely you all are amazing thank you for reading

_"Move him into the sun —_  
  
_Gently its touch awoke him once,_  
  
_at home, whispering of fields unsown._  
  
_Always it woke him, even in France_  
  
_Until this morning and this snow._  
  
  
  
_If anything might rouse him now_  
  
_The kind old sun will know."_  
  
_**Wilfred Owen** , [Futility]_

  
  
5\. 2010

"What time is it?" He smiles, but does not turn at the groggy voice.

"Morning, sweetheart." He gives the eggs in his skillet a gentle toss and lets out a small victorious whoop when it folds perfectly.

"It's 9." A panicked edge sneaks into Diana's voice, "Steven, my class starts at 9.30am, and the college is across town!"

"Darlin’ —"

"Great Hera, why did you let me oversleep? I'm going to be late — I've got to get ready."

He sighs and sets down the utensils. Diana is bustling around at the area near the closet and the bathroom, and he decides to stop her while he can. She could be quite a tornado when she was in a rush.

"Di. Angel, wait."

He holds the cupboard door, and then leans on it to prevent her from getting to her clothes. She shoots him an unamused glare and proceeds to bodily lift him aside, eliciting an offended _'hey'_ from the man.

"Angel, darling, sweetheart, listen."

"What? What is it?!” Diana erupted, “Why won't you just let me get ready for class?! You've already made me late by neglecting to wake me!"

"Diana, stop." She stops to fold her arms tightly across her chest and level a scorching  glare at him. Steve holds up both hands in mock surrender, "Okay. So, I've just exhausted my entire repertoire of things I call you, are you ready to listen now? Or do I have to start making up new names?"

"Speak. And make it quick, I need to get ready for school and you for work." The woman throws open the cupboard and continues to rummaging through its contents.

"Your professor called in sick. Class is cancelled."

Diana halts.

"What? Really?"

He nods. She relaxes considerably, then—

"Why didn't you inform me earlier?!"

"I was trying! You wouldn't let me."

"I…"

Diana bites her lip, looking for a way to respond, but eventually isn't able to find one. She falls into a silence, but Steve isn't actually angry so he takes her into a tight bear hug. He sighs contentedly when she hugs him back and hears her mumble a _'sorry for being so irritable in the morning and for using my strength to move you around against your will'._

"Hey there, it's alright. I am sorry for not telling you as soon as the school called. And for teasing you when you got upset."

The demigoddess huffs out a short breath and, after a contemplative pause, shakes her head in reply.

"Next time, if I am being unreasonable, address me in full. That is what my mother always used to do when I was being disobedient or argumentative."

"Mm... but I am not your mother, so what should I say? Diana, Princess of Themyscira, Apple of my eye, Queen of my heart. Goddess of my soul, the most beautiful angel, descended from the gods above to be among hopeless men—"

She giggles at his theatrics and pulls away from his chest. God, she is so radiant, especially when she is smiling.

"You're the only hopeless one." He dons the most woebegotten expression he can manage.

"Ah. You _wound_ me, fair maiden. However, I would like to argue against that sentiment. Despite your lowly opinion of me, you still hug me, like _so_ ," she laughs as he pulls her into an embrace on the spot.

"And you still kiss me, like _so_."

Diana's lips are warm and soft when he captures them. Their hands intertwine and Steve is lost to the moment, relishing the taste and the feeling of having her so close to him, so tangible and real.

Unexpectedly, a wave of piercing nostalgia overcomes him and he pulls away, startled. Diana does not seem disturbed by his behaviour and instead picks up her clothing, giving him a chaste kiss on his cheek before disappearing into the bathroom to clean up. He calls after her retreating back.

"Be quick, alright, Angel? I've got a whole day planned for us."

She calls back, "Don't you have work?"

"I called in and told them I need to take some time off today. We are going to see a movie in the evening, but before that, I have somewhere to take you."

"Where are we going?" He smiles even though he knows she cannot see him. It is a Wednesday morning, so almost everyone is likely to be at work or school. The skating rinks should be pretty empty.

"You'll see!"

When she comes out, breakfast is ready and set before her.

"Thank you, love. This looks good." She takes a bite and exclaims, "and it tastes as good as it looks, for once."

"Hey, don't be rude." He chides playfully, seeing the mischievous glint in her eye.

"Anyhow, where did you say we were going to again?"

"I didn't." He takes a bite of his egg but ends up spitting it out. It tastes loamy and sandy, like he just ate dirt instead of eggs. "Agh! What is this?"

"What's wrong?" Diana barely looks up from her meal.

"Does this egg taste weird to you? Mine tastes like... like sand. And wet grass." He tries for a good-natured chuckle, hoping to dispel the tight sense of unease settling over his chest.

"My meal is fine. The egg tastes great to me."

He took another mouth of the eggs and finds that it is that exact same taste. He tries the bacon, and finds that it has a similar cloying taste of rot and mold.

"God, what is this—" A sudden, sharp feeling rips through his chest and he gasps out loud, quite involuntarily.

Pain. Searing hot and agonizing, worse than when he had fallen from the plane and broke all those bones. It feels as though someone has just stuck several red-hot swords through his ribs, into his lungs, and were in the process of twisting them viciously.

"Di...!" He sputters and his hands claw at the table, scrambling for the semblance of purchase on the smooth tablecloth. He tries to tell Diana that he can't breathe, to alert her to his distress, but she barely moves. She continues eating her meal, as if she hasn't even heard him.

A cold settles on his insides. He is in agony, he can't breathe, and she doesn't even know. She doesn't know he is dying.

He blinks and suddenly he is not in their house anymore, he is lying on the floor of a large, concrete-walled chamber, the only individual in it, and there is a strange mist shrouding the room. Every breath he takes still burns viciously, like he is inhaling liquid fire.

It takes a few more moments to realise where this place is. It is one of those chambers. Those gas chambers. God, he thought these were just myths, tall tales made up for kicks by the Nazi soldiers. He can't believe they actually did it. They actually made a chamber, no, chambers for the prisoners that they have yet to even imprison. And he is one of the first ones they were using it on.

It takes him three hours to die. Early on in the ordeal, he watches the time go by on his watch, each breath more painful than the last, but he can't stop taking them. He has heard that the gases kill in under an hour, so after the hour passes, it becomes clear to his hazy, oxygen-deprived mind that they altered the conditions to make his death not just horrific and inhuman, but excruciating.

His last thought before everything goes black is that his tongue still tastes like dirt.

Without warning, air floods back into his lungs and soil rushes down his throat. Steve chokes, hands writhing at their own accord, tensing and relaxing painfully. Again, he breathes and gets a mouthful of soil.

_What going on?!_

His limbs continue working erratically, entirely out of his control. They are pushing and scrabbling at something, something heavy and suffocating. _Crushing_.

It should seem like a quick moment compared to the hours he suffered in the chamber, but he doesn't want to feel like this anymore. Finally, something breaks he is expelled from whichever hole in hell had decided to swallow him up, panting and coughing in the open. God. Fresh air has never smelled or tasted this wonderful.

Steve rolls over onto his back, his vision whiting out when he tries to open them. As he struggles for breath, he eases himself back into the world of living, seeing, hearing, and breathing. The latter two are just taking a little longer than usual to get back into the swing of things.

When his vision finally adjusts to the much brighter setting and renders it more tolerable, he finds himself staring straight up through the leaves of a gigantic oak tree. It looks vaguely familiar, and he lies there, breathing painfully and trying to recall where he has seen them before.

It is only much later that he realises the absurdity of the situation. The skating rink he taught Diana how to skate upon was obliterated and bulldozed over as London morphed into its 21st century form. The war is a thing of the past, albeit documented heavily in history books all over the world. The gas chambers are now quiet, almost sacred domains which drew in masses that were keen to pay respects and mourn those who passed on within their confine.

And yet, he wakes up under that same oak tree he climbed for years as a child, that has been standing on the grounds since his grandfather bought the farm. It has barely grown, barely changed, still standing, still alive. But he is also alive. He should not be alive.

This is not his world anymore.

* * *

Zeus watches as the man falls into a heap on the grass, gasping erratically for air. In all honesty, he is surprised the lad even managed to dig his way out of the grave, given his physical state. Of course, the process was helped along by the power of the black ring, but the item all but expired when the corpse reached the surface and restored Steve to his full physical form. Evidently, greek magic and galactic forces do not coexist peacefully.

Now the boy lay, spasming and coughing as his weakened systems attempted to reboot themselves. His complexion is still gray and wan, but he is alive, and that in itself is a miracle.

The boy, at least, still has some semblance of wit. He knows he is not well and needs the rest, but he also takes the chance to absorb the details of his surroundings, breathing laboured. One of Diana's mares who had been grazing nearby has just spotted him, and decided to investigate this strange entity that has suddenly presented himself in her garden.

A lick from her sends him skittering, and in his movement, he sits up right and squints. Something seems to dawn upon him, because he hauls himself to his feet and staggers in the direction of main road. Zeus watches him make an arduous ascent to the wooden stiles that ring the compound, then he mounts the rungs and falls, without grace, over the wooden beams and past the barrier that regulates the sanctuary's weather and time. The god of the sky knows that it is now dark out, with it being 5pm in the wintertime. Zeus settles at the edge of the property, where, for the next hour the young man desperately tries to flag down a car to help him. His lungs are still giving him trouble, and Zeus has a feeling that he will never regain full function of them. It is a side-effect of the way he died, and now becomes part of the way he is to live.

But it was quite obvious that clearly no one was interested in involving themselves with a man who was covered in dirt and dressed in a Nazi dress uniform. Despite it being 2010, people know that the swastika was trouble. The boy seems to realise this as well, and despite the chill, he strips off the coat and keeps only the pants, standing with a hand out into the road, shivering terribly in his thin shirt and ragged pants.

Finally, a young couple all but manages to flatten him with their vehicle. Out of obligation, they whisk him away to the nearest medical facility. Zeus is satisfied. He could follow, but he knows that the path from the boy now is quite certain, at least for the next few days. After which, it depends on which his own choice.

When he gets back to the tree to wait, he spots the upturned grave. As an afterthought, he covers up all trace of Steve's revival, returning it to its original state. He doesn't want his child to go running, and looking for this man. She has chased after him for long enough -- now it is time for someone else to do the work.

Diana comes after the crisis with the black-blooded, empty-hearted entities has been concluded, just as Zeus knew she would. She always came back here when she was upset, or frustrated, or just when she had something on her mind. Today is no different, and he knows she has just come from battle for she is still in her armor and it has several different shades of blood splattered all over it.

"Hi, love. How are you doing?" She places a tub of ice cream on the grave, murmuring, "I got us some ice cream. It's your favourite, chocolate."

He watches as she settles down on at the head of the grave, beside the tub and sticks two plastic spoons in it. She is quiet for a while, scooping the half-melted ice cream and sampling it tentatively, as if contemplating the flavour of the dessert.

After half an hour of silence, she finally speaks.

"I killed many people today." She says, "They were already dead, but I led them to their deaths a second time."

Diana heaves a tired breath. "I... I don't even know if it hurt for them to be killed like that. They weren't behaving like themselves, well, not entirely."

The ice cream is liquefying rather quickly even under the shade of the great oak. But she doesn't seem to be too bothered by it; instead she shifts down until she is flat on her back, gazing up at the leaves of the trees, head just resting on the mound of soft hay that she always covers the grave with. She lifts a hand to brush against the lanky heads of the blossoms that hang just above her, the ambrosines she planted when she first brought Steve here.

"Many of them were old friends. Comrades. This sounds strange, but it was nice to see them, even if they were not real.

"I thought that you would appear amongst them. But you didn't. I am glad."

The young woman smiles quite suddenly. Her grin is beautiful, fierce, but it fails to reach her over-bright eyes. She tilts her head right and glances at the ground beside her head, "I was afraid you would appear, like the last time.

"I am glad you were not there, Steven." She repeats, as if trying to convince herself of the statement, trying to negotiate her conflicted emotions on the matter, "I was relieved when I didn't see you."

A withering blossom comes away from the plant easily, rolling into the palm of her hand. She picks it apart, taking away the dying layers until they've reached the tender core, where the petals are still soft and delicate.

He almost misses the next words she whispers, as she turns and curls up in a fetal position against the grave. The flower is still clutched in her fist.

"I don't think I could have killed you again. Not after the last time. Even though I could have heard your voice again. Even though I could have seen you again. I think I would have been tempted join you. I would have let you take me."

A deep ache rises in his chest. Before she is lost to sleep, she mutters. "Bruce and Clark think I am without weakness. That I am invincible. This is not true." Her hand unfurls and she lets the naked flower tumble onto the grave. "If only they knew..."

Diana's breathing soon evens out, as she is lulled to sleep by the gentle breeze and shifting patterns of sunlight. Once he is sure she is asleep, he descends to the field and pauses by his daughter's sleeping form. Her face is relaxed and naive in sleep, the latter a trait he wishes she never lost. She has become so hard, so cold, and only amongst those who know her best does she allow herself to be vulnerable.

He never wanted a life like this for her. He always wished the best for his children, especially those he fathered with mortals. He wanted them to lead happy and meaningful lives, even with their capabilities. But sometimes it is not meant to be. Some people were just meant to lead long and difficult lives.

He wishes he could let her know what he knows. But he decides that he needs to see what the boy was capable of.

After all, if he was truly worthy of her, he has to prove himself first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're no longer in Diana's POV DUNDUNDUN just kidding. This is only for this chapter, I figured an external perspective would be a nice way to look at this situation. 
> 
> Also, I imagine Zeus has a similar character to Poseidon in the Percy Jackson Universe, mostly because I prefer the dynamic between Poseidon and his children over that of Zeus and his respective offspring.
> 
> P.S: the titles of all the chapters are actual lines taken from songs. At the end of this series I will draw up a playlist, hopefully it ties as nicely into the story as I imagined it would... we'll see?
> 
> P.P.S:I'm on tumblr, you can find me [here](http://the-superhero-rush.tumblr.com/)


	6. and darling we will sing (until we die)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we come full circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> " _Speech in italics and double speech commas are in French_ "
> 
> ' _Speech in italics and single speech commas are in English, and occur in flashbacks,_ '
> 
> _Plain Italics are just thoughts_
> 
> This is set in 2018, Diana still works at the Louvre, so the exhibition is being held in Paris, at the Louvre.
> 
> Happy reading! This is the last one of this series (pardon my writing at the end, I wrote it in a rush and without checking.) 

_Whatever our souls are made out of,_

_his and mine are the same_

_…_

_If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be;_

_and if all else remained, and he were annihilated,_

_the universe would turn to a mighty stranger._

_Emily Brontë, **[Wuthering Heights]**_

 

+1. 2018

 

She is grooming Luna, her chestnut mare when a echoing, dull pulse tells her that something foreign has passed through her barriers.

Diana arrives at the source of the sound before the hairbrush even hits the stable floor and finds herself standing before a familiar face.

"Clark. I didn't know you were coming."

"Just wanted to see how you were doing." The metahuman is dressed casually in navy-washed jeans and a shirt, looking mildly ruffled by his flight here. "What are you up this morning?"

"Come, I will show you." She turns and takes a running jump towards the stables. The man follows closely, and she is pleased to see him mimic her soft landing so as not to startle the horses.

"This is Luna, and this is Amber." She pats the ebony with a gold streak in her mane in the stall beside the mare she had been grooming before Clark arrived. "I have two more, they are out in the fields."

He is looking at them with bright, keen eyes, silently examining and marveling at the gloss in the horses’ coats. Diana grins. That is a look that could only come from someone who grew up around these kinds of animals.

She hands him a dandy brush, which he accepts wordlessly.

"They are magnificent." Amber nickers happily at his touch and if possible, Clark’s face brightens even more.

"Mares from Themyscira. Well, most of them anyway. Luna was sired by Xanthos, Victoria has Pegasi blood, but she has adapted to our environment on the island such that she is able to conceal her wings behind a self-developed glamour. Krystal and Amber are Nightriders. They were gifted to me by my uncle; they can travel through the shadows."

"Your uncle as in..."

"Hades."

"Oh ok. Wow."

Sinking into comfortable silence, they work on the horses. Diana gradually eases off grooming the coat, handing the task over to Clark while she picked the hooves of the animals. With Clark's help, they are done within the hour.

They keep the tools away as the horses huff their thanks. Amber even gives Clark an affectionate nuzzle before darting straight for the shadows and vanishing.

"Woah!" Diana chuckles at his startled expression. "You weren't kidding about the travelling thing."

"Ah... well, that’s just Amber. She moves without thinking, always likes to be the first in line to everything."

"And she is off to...?"

"Her favorite spot, under the oak tree. Do you want to meet the other girls?"

"I would love to."

They chat idly as they take a regularly, human-paced hike up the small hill towards the jet-black equine milling about the base of the tree, preoccupied with something there.

"What is she — oh! Oh. Hello there." Victoria, a good-natured white mare has clearly been led over by Luna, who is close behind. Clearly, the latter had gone to get her sister to investigate this new individual that has suddenly appeared on their territory. The half-pegasus harrumphs pleasantly as a way of a greeting.

"That's Victoria."

"Hi, Vi— ow!"

"Luna, be nice, no eating guests." The chestnut freezes, then reluctantly releases a lock of Clark's short wavy hair. Diana doesn't even know how she manages to get such a good grip of items— her mouth is as deft as human hands and she is as mischievous as a two-year-old babe.

"And I am assuming that is Krystal?" She follows Clark's eye line to the tree, where a dark chocolate horse with a bone-white mane has joined Amber at the base of the tree. Diana narrows her eyes.

_What are those two up to?_

"Yes, that would be her. Sorry, if you could excuse me for a moment..."

Diana flies up to where the girls are gathered and a part of her twinges at the familiar sight of the flat hay and clustered flowers that bracket the grave.

Then something catches her eye.

_That's odd._

"What's up?" Clark is by her side in a beat, with the mares following closely behind.

"Probably nothing..." she bends down to gather some scraps from the ground beside the plant that has her attention.

"I am sensing a  _but_  somewhere in there."

"Well." She rises, holding up a dehydrated bud that she has just picked off the grass, "Do you know what this is?"

"Ah..." he picks it off her hand to examine it more closely, ”It looks like a morning glory? But larger and not a color I have seen before."

"Well, it is dead so it looks brown. At its prime, it is a deep plum with streaks of ice blue. Its name in Ancient Greek is φύλαξ φῶς, which is loosely translated to mean a guarding or guardian light. We call them Mourner's Candles. They are used as grave flowers for heroes where I come from. Well, traditionally anyway."

Clark is never one to beat about the bush when it came to important matters, so he said it straight. “Ok, so... why is it that they are dying here? This is... this is his grave right?"

Diana nods mutely. And Steven is a hero. The phrase goes unspoken between them; her friend knows the story well enough to share her own sentiments. The Candle is returned to her hand and promptly snapped up by Amber. Diana makes a sharp sound at her friend.

"What, is it poisonous?"

"No, but it is very sacred. This is one of the first few plants we were able to procure in a while and I only just planted this last week. When the gods fell, Charon was unable to keep up the transport— he had to run the Underworld with only the help of a few minor gods. That is not an easy task."

"So they come from the Underworld?”

"They are flora native to the Elysian Fields; they are called Mourner's Candles because they mainly live off the presence of the deceased and emit a glow with their blue veins. The plants do not require sunlight or water, but rightfully, they grow fine on graves, unless the body is moved or if the body has been contaminated by some sort of poison."

"Have you ever seen them die like this before?"

"Only when the body is contaminated." Her mind goes back to her sisters who died from an accident involving crops that had been poisoned by Circe’s subjects who lived on their sister island Aeaea. Perhaps it was because Steve's body was damaged by Circe's magic...

"Is St—"

"Actually, it is of little concern. It was just a flower."

She pauses, feeling the tension in the air between them from how she cut Clark off. But she is really not keen to talk about Steve now, especially not today, when tonight...

"Diana..."

"I said it is fine, Clark."

The man purses his lips shut, clearly reluctant. But he clears his throat and changes the subject anyway.

"So, are you ready?"

"For?"

"Tonight. You have to open the ceremony, don’t you?"

"Ah." Suddenly, she is no longer interested in keeping Amber away from the flowers. The horse seems to sense her sudden lack of conviction and snatches a cluster of the flowers all at once, and promptly vanishing into the shade.

"I..."

"You know you have no obligation to appear, right?" Diana resists the urge to roll her eyes at Clark's assertion. His intentions are good, she knows.

"I will be there. I have to be there." Diana is nothing if not principled. If she committed to something, she is willing to do everything in her ability to keep the promise.

"Alright." Clark adds after a heavy pause, looking at the grave as if he has only just realized the magnitude of it for the first time. Wars fought, battles raged. Lives given, time lost. All things precious, everything that can never be returned. There are only so many ways one could reconnect with the dead.

But at the end of it all, she is left standing at their grave, with a void in her soul and questions for nobody to answer.

* * *

"Beautiful speech, Diana." Lois greets her warmly when she returns to their standing table near the center of the room.

The demigoddess can feel her heart in her chest, beating faster than usual from the words she just delivered to the audience. Many of these people are important figures, academically, socially, and politically, and they were all here by exclusive invite. She is glad that hurdle is over. Her friends were here standing in as her family, although some of them could have easily procured press passes, and she is certain that the remainder would have been invited regardless. But all of them have come here explicitly on her behalf, and while that may seem of little significance to others, amongst their tight-knit pseudo family, it is a gesture that has great magnitude. It is rare as well that they had the chance to all meet under such relaxed circumstances, so they planned on taking full advantage of it.

"Thank you. Where are the rest?"

"Right here." Bruce's deep voice comes from behind her. She turns to see him, with Barry and Arthur a little ways behind, walking and talking animatedly, each holding a small mountain of food in their hands.

"Did I miss something?" Dinah appears beside Lois, "I left Kara, Cat, and Iris out on the deck, there are a couple of young men showing an excessive amount of interest in them. Hopefully the boys catch a hint soon; the girls are practically holding hands and Iris has a ring for God's sake."

"What? What about Iris?" Barry is beside the heroine in a flash, a half-eaten club sandwich in his hand. Clark chose that exact moment to materialise beside his wife with Oliver in tow.

"I saw her out on the balcony, talking with some young men." Clark offers as he wraps a strong arm around Lois' shoulders. Oliver snorts as Dinah slips her arm through his.

"Don't you mean getting hit on? Those boys seemed pretty interested—"

The women in the group party let out a collective groan as the speedster's face darkens visibly. They blink and he is gone.

"Great, now you've gone and done it." Dinah directs at her date as he chortles.

Diana shakes her head and looks to Bruce, who is watching her carefully. She raises her eyebrow as he carefully blanks out his face.

"Where are the children?”

"Rooftop. I gave them the permission to leave the party."

An image of Donna practically bouncing on her toes saying  _'please, Diana, can we please?'_  appears in her mind's eye. The girl had then shared twin grins with Wally after she agreed to give them the (incorrect) passcode to the roof. The last thing she has heard before they disappeared upstairs was Roy whispering to Richard  _'can't you essentially hack the damn lock? In your sleep?'_ , the latter's responding  _'it’s always nicer to ask for permission to break rules before breaking them'_ , and Garth's laughter.

"They're probably trying to override the codes. If Dick doesn't have his wrist computer..."

"He does." Murmurs Bruce. Then sighs, “Alfred tried to stop him, but you know how he is.”

"Then they're likely already wrecking havoc on the roof, right now."

"I hope they have learnt since their last meeting not to let Roy and Dick on the same team." Injects Lois, looking concerned. Arthur lets out a guffaw, nodding in agreement.

"I agree. I do not wish to scrape my protégé off the floor of such a fine building."

“Oh please, Garth will be fine,” Throws back Dinah, smiling with amusement, “It will be good training though, for the others. Roy and Dick could teach them a thing or two about stealth.”

It is true. Wally, Garth, and even Donna were sometimes just too dependent on their enhanced abilities, which is why she condones, sometimes even encourages, their play-sparring. Just as Diana opens her mouth to agree with Dinah, a voice comes through the crowd.

" _Diana!_ "

" _Professor Winona Lucas, Dr. Monelle Moreau._ " She withdraws from her friends, offering her hand to the two women who have just appeared, " _I am so glad both of you managed to come_."

The blonde-haired professor beams at her, pulling her into a tight, warm embrace.

" _It is always a pleasure to see you. Furthermore, I must say, this is a fantastic exhibition you've managed to put up here. One of the best commemorative events I have seen in a long time._ "

The doctor nods in agreement, gray-streaked hair glistening in the light of the gallery. Both were French academics with close ties to the museum, and, apart from being close friends, were prominent figures in the field of restoration and preservation of precious artifacts. Diana has consulted the professor on multiple occasions on how to handle certain art pieces and the doctor had been her mentor for her paper on ancient weaponry and warfare.

" _I never did expect myself to enjoy listening and reading about history of the last century, but I daresay that you have changed my view on this._ "

Winona smiles at her friend's glowing review, teasing gently, " _I told you it would be worth your time, Monelle. Since when has Diana disappointed you?_ "

" _I realize that now, and I am glad that I came._ "

" _Thank you, it is always heartening to hear that great minds such as yours hold my work to such high esteem._ " Diana casts a glance over her shoulder to see her friends still talking, but not unaware of her preoccupation. Lois happens to look over at that moment and sends her a minute nod, telling her to go ahead. She could rejoin them at any time.

" _Can I interest both of you in a tour?_ "

" _Of course, that would be wonderful._ "

For thirty minutes, they take a meandering path through the exhibit, stopping at the key portions of gallery. They stop at the section on the wartime aerial and naval infrastructure.

" _This is amazing._ " Winona gazes at the plane, almost slack-jawed with amazement. Diana agrees, sweeping her eyes over the structure

" _It is, isn’t it?_ "

They have arrived at the part of the gallery she has been actively avoiding of most of the night. Ironic, seeing how it is the portion she has been most invested in curating. Most items from this corner are hers, and deeply personal.

" _The preservation of it is impeccable, how did you even manage to obtain this?_ "

" _Well, it was passed down to me, by an old comrade._ "

The German vessel had been the one that the soldiers arrived on Themyscira in. The director of the museum as well as her colleagues had been astounded by the pristine condition of the vessel as there are no such vessels in the world anymore— most were eliminated or scrapped for parts during the Second World War. They were similarly impressed with the restoration of the plane, the one Steve had crash landed on the shores of Paradise. With help from the ironsmiths on the island, Diana was able to present it in one piece with no visible damage.

" _Hold on, you mean all these pieces are yours?_ " Monelle interrupted her train of thought. She chuckles at the mixture of incredulity and amazement in the woman's voice.

" _No, Doctor, just the plane and the boat. And some of the pictures. The WWI pilot's personal effects were donated by me as well._ "

She gestures to the mannequin they had on display, encased in a glass case and wearing a standard set of Steve's uniform. There is another display at the back with his journals and books and other materials he kept in his storage unit before leaving for his detail in Germany. This event is being held to commemorate the 100th year since the end of the first war, where so many had died to defend their people. So much was lost to that period of history, so she figured it would make sense for her to give a portion of it back to humankind, fill the void a little.

" _How did you even manage to befriend a WWI vet? He must have lived for a very long time._ "

Her smile tightens on her face, but the professor does not see her rigid expression. " _I knew him when I was much younger — he took me in when my mother sent me to live in England._ "

" _Wait..._ " The doctor interrupts her conversation with Winona, pointing at the insignia on the plane tail, " _Correct me if I am wrong, but these are all German equipment. Was your friend on that side of the war?_ "

Diana tries not to frown at Monelle's insinuation, but it is an understandable misinterpretation of the information at hand, so she is glad to clarify.

" _He was deep undercover, working as a spy and infiltrating German troops during the war. He was one of the key characters who contributed to the success of the armistice during that period._ "

" _And this man, his name is...?_ "

" _His name does not appear in history books, but it is Captain Steve Trevor. It was him and several associates who prevented the bomber carrying several tonnes of a corrosive mustard gas equivalent from reaching the front lines. A few days after their feat, the war was done._ "

Monelle and Winona look sufficiently impressed by her narrative. Diana could have gone into much more detail, but they bring forth uncomfortable memories and the crushing feeling of loss, so she just maintains the same calm smile and directs her friends and mentors to the next exhibit. The three women continue on, discussing the aspects of the exhibition avidly, with an added commentary provided by Diana. They are stopped every now and then by other guests wishing to commend or congratulate Diana for her work; she accepts the words of praise graciously.

The whole time, however, she is unable shake the feeling that there should be another person here with her, and he should be the one that they should be thanking for these rare insights into the historic event. It had been he who gave her the world. She could tell it to the universe, shout it from the highest mountaintop if she wishes, but if he is not here to hear it, then what's the point?

They have just arrived at the portion of the aftermath when it happens. They are poring over the celebratory photos of England at the end of the war, with Diana pointing out minute details and sharing bits of trivia when she catches a waft of an achingly familiar perfume, with notes of spearmint, and something that is as sweet as it is warm.

The air disappears from her lungs.

Slowly, Diana turns herself, not daring to look too fast in fear that the happenstance may disappear. Her eyes slowly sweep the crowd, looking for the source, but everyone is moving every which way.

_Can it be?_

The princess finds herself drifting away from her company. The eyes of some of the guests fall on her as she wanders slowly into the middle of the room, scouring every inch of her surroundings. It is like she is stranded in a middle of a desert, dying of thirst, and she has just caught a trace of what she believes to be her oasis. Her saving grace.

Or is it just a mirage? Is she imagining things again?

“Diana?” Someone else calls out at her, but she might as well be deaf to everything.

The scent hits her again, and she veers. It is. It can’t be anyone else, it can only be him. Now all she needs is to see with her own two eyes, and hear him say—

“Wow.” Her ears zero in on the murmur. There is someone standing just before the restored plane, with his back to her and his head inclined slightly as he beholds the structure, "She really did a good job with it.”

The man is dressed in a ash grey suit, cut just right, fitting in seamlessly into the black-tie event. But she could recognise him anywhere. His silhouette was familiar, his timbre no different, everything is him.  _Everything._

Diana is about to move closer when he turns, and his eyes meet hers.

_Ocean’s blue; incandescent, glorious._

She is moving even before he speaks. This time she doesn’t have to check to make sure. She doesn’t need to see the ring on his finger, the scars on his back, the nick in his lip from a childhood mishap. She also doesn’t have the time to do a double check because she needs him like she needs air. And it is not like she needs to work hard to confirm it is him anyway, because his lips are already parting to say the one thing she has waited so long to hear.

“Angel?”

 _Thank the gods_ , is her last thought before she reaches him, _that some things don’t change_. His embrace is still as warm as it has always been, his touch just as electrifying. His lips taste exactly like they have always tasted, even though they last exchanged kisses in another time, under another circumstance.

Things are different now, but some things  _just don’t change_.

Some things, like his scent, his lips, his eyes. Like his smile, his loving gaze. His gentle 'Hi there, beautiful' that is tinged with just the right amount of cheek.

Like her shaky, disbelieving laugh. The way she blindly feels for contours of his face as tears obscure her vision.

“Steve.”

* * *

 

_I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where._

_I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;_

_so I love you because I know no other way_

 

_than this: where I do not exist, nor you,_

_so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,_

_so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep._

_Pablo Neruda, **[I Do Not Love You...]**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone that has left kudos, commented, and read the story, thank you, truly. Every week your words and encouragements and your views spur me on and has given me to strength to continue this.
> 
> As mentioned previously, the title of each chapter are lines from a song, so [here is a Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/aconytum/playlist/7cSHUb0EdvsA3oZU8mX9SQ) with all the songs used, as well as the title of the story itself.
> 
> This is not the end! I have a few more branch offs planned, so look out for that. I will post it under the same series, if the context fits.who knows, if i keep this up long enough, it may yet last till Wonder Woman 2 ×.0
> 
> P.S. I'm on tumblr, you can find me [here](http://the-superhero-rush.tumblr.com/). Hit me up anytime, with any questions you may have!


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